limited by both and almost never in prose.
The modern wit burned out, credentialized mind,
lacking taste, sanction, refinement and dimwitted by time.
Prostituted aloft, o Sisyphean feat and idolized chambers to emptied to think.
O muse, o mistress who was it that said:
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else even cared.
O poet of old from what great lofty height were you thrown?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed once moor?
No, not from Sisyphean mountains but the valley they bring,
the lowly, the criminal, well quenched from ol pierian spring.
Pirates of penzance your general is dead,
no more a leader, no more narragonia read.
Look not to towers of ivory or gold
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.
A stubborn mule part horse and part ass wild as they come
The towers of ivory, well they be over run.
By what isn't clear, but one thing that is,
tribalism is to the university as much as the hiv.
Better the seeker, seek truth in the street
not infected by mammon nor narcissus deceit.
Don't believe all you hear: real eyes, realize, real lies.
