An astronaut-farmer by trade,
his fists were great ham hocks.
His voice: a great, trembling fuck.
He spake,
and the huddled huddlers huddled at his leather-clad feet.
His ties, all 1,001 of 'em: the innards of italy's finest silkworms.
Every day, he wakes,
pours himself a big mug of knowledge,
and eats a hearty helping of refinement. Beasts, dragged up from the earth,
dress him merrily. He cleans his commemorative Obama plate;
his mother taught him manners. Then he
kicks down his and our doors and goes to scroan the world.
Orchestras once
followed his every booming footstomp, but
now they don't. these were
the times before orchestras went extinct.
Before you went extinct. Before
I went extinct.
A great man once strode here.
Then he killed us all and left.
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