‘Oyez, oyez!’ The Man Who Did Not Deliver
is before you for his deliverance, my lords.
He stands, as charged
for This by banks, That cops, by lawyers, by
publishingers for Them. I doubt he’ll make
I warned him, of a summer night: consist,
consist. Ex-wives roar.
Further, the Crown holds that they split himself,
splitting his manward chances, to his shame,
my lords, & our horror.
Behind, oh worst lean backward them who bring
un-charges: hundreds & one, children,
the pillars & the sot.
Henry thought. It is so. I must sting.
Listen! the grave ground-rhythm of a gone
. . . makar? So what.