In the kingdom of Idiots

 









They are endowed with Everything, 

But on trays of frailty, 

They trade their image,

That squeezed-dried image

Left now after a well-threshed encounter. 


They have shame left as their dignity

Even that is untenable

Keenly contested by erudite slippery folks

Who grab the lion by the tail because it is the safest to touch.


They change in mid-air,

Their weary garment of age

Worn yesterday and before

Never minding the call for landing. 


They are contented

And set afoot black military

That shoot to kill

The opinions of lettered persons 


Converting to zero, the finesse of positions 

Never minding the pollution of their poision

Nor the death it causes 

Such is the arder which plows their vineyard.

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