In sonorous disquiet they ***** their soliloquy
them hawkers and runts of the poorhouses seeking a buck
deluded nits dreamily bent that all needed is repetition for a guy
howling to a gilded head holding nay but trifling contempt for muck

pattering for puttering the dance of simpletons
speaking languages they misunderstand as ants are unvoiced
yet they grind organs to the wedding march of strangers in Bulletins
town criers heralding fantasies of cowards with bravado's unnoticed

Who will thus address the parading morons
and dare declare if realness and truth lives in hearts corner
no edits doth bars a courtesy fare thee for none sees a den of lions
hysteria of village idiots now misses sanity but is one for mourners