At the least I am not the ghost writers
preoccupied in arid pollution
wangling the biography of one we know nowt
in devoted homage to buttress all our depravities

At least I am not the indentured servants
showing like a gratified Kapos
the coerced slaves mindless of choices or free wills
used to rake smoke and breathe in pungent acidity

At least I am not the Scaramouches
fed with fables and lies unfounded
tasked with perversions to display as useful fools
the heroes of the chicken pen and ***** of the walk only

At the least I am not the renowned thimbles
begging for redemption in obedience
proving our masculinities in showy chest-puffs
posing in thuggery attesting the villainy of Sherwood forest

At least I am the edifice to the man
who walk the walk and talk the talk
staunch in the storms because truth endures
and who in all ways stands for all you can never be

for classic mind body and soul of the renaissance being
is as far from you and yours as conscience
love and humanity was to your slave trading ancestries
and some will rather die than represent slaves or victims to you
as those stolen honourable free men and women who jumped overboard did....