Shafts of daytime, hobs of hell & things no more than dog-bite,
   pull my back teeth towards the front & strip my spine of gunite.
Never, not a million times, have I atoned for Christmas; a month
   like that when Jesus was born even although it was October...
Shirkers & official experts drink from wells of knowledge,
   grants are granted, taxes exacted and everyone's so happy.
A modern American mother waits for someone better
   as she's disgracing herself more often than not.