I will not be a stain
upon the pages
of your four
cornered vile

Nor do I wither
but strain to keep
perpendicular the line
so compiled

Your broadsword words
of audacity flecks
off my shield
inconspicuously

Leave your lectern
note for note
For you cannot rage
without your kickstand support

So faberge your doting dribble
Your sculpture is cracked
saturated in strychnine
and mace