now hear this! sing this! you constant Cade, you
choral breakneck in a single sum of man,
brackbreaking in the chaos-rinsing rite of ashed religion!—

choke now, for you used me. a tossing stave to ward off sins
of fratting simpletons and their unsyncopated singing.
—all sixteenths through roughshod roads of wrong-be-gone righteousness.

and why? because i vaped some trebled color to the gray.

oh! what is the
madness-misering measure of a middle-aged man
who through the din of dampened doing, of desperate
dancing on two left feet and wrinkled writhe of witlessness in the mid of being been should shuffle off and coil himself into a crimson cross?

you did it why? for friends and for the fissure,
some bald breach of banality beyond the stoic peach—
and for a frosty flame?

what waste of was you were, and still accomplished are;
that god-grappled greed should unhinge your soul's Sophia
and ever the future fraught.

there is not bracker brine than your bishops ex-cathedra,
for all the feast you fête, and friends you turn upon a spit;
you're hungry for a food that's never fed.

poor witless starving pitchless sum; your death is all my make into an angel, as you so quickly from this earth will shred
and songs adduced unto the celebration same.