There was once, on this one planet,
a civilization SO verified that it would not
allow any citizen to be a poet
who had ever had a pimple.
On this somewhat experimental planet
they are trying out a piece of legislation
directing that, “Uninvited guests can visit
only as long as it takes them to ride a
motorcycle through our house,
front door to back.”
can still be correctly named.
All dreams of freedom
are descriptions of confinement;
All freedoms vocalized
are themselves forms of captivity.
A certain uppity kid grabbed the trouser leg of a renowned intellectual elder and asked,
“Say, if knowledge is actually something you have, how come all those fancy-ancy kings
with their hoopdee-loopee tombs didn’t have theirs buried with them, along with their swords and shields?” (It was subsequently necessary for the professor to have his pants cleaned.)