Yicketty Yack his loaded knuckles snap
with each invasive step he takes
towards bringing the daisies back.

Like a Gorilla dragging a bag of prolific
back up to the front of the line like,
"Look here, Mom, we made it this time!"

Young blood bloated dumb,
can't you hear them humble drums
droning on from the swampy slums?

Here we are! Final Stop! The point where four corners of the earth converge in preparation of the coming plunder.

It's a wonder for the poodles to ponder.
But why bother when every ounce of effort conjured turns into cannon fodder for those pesky mammoths ripe with Karma?