I ran across this other fellow
who sometimes made sounds
that had a vague whiff of the revolution about them,
and what he would do was periodically jump into
wild pig shit up to his neck, and then not mention it.
All labels are nutritious,
especially those men help attach
A chap, just over that-aways,
complains that his brain has,
finally and completely,
“eaten him up.”
Once you’re dead
EVERYONE can speak Latin.
Part of being properly intellectualized in City affairs
is in the ability to promptly reject any easy, obvious solutions.