I do not have the sensibility
To do much more than really curse.
I write as though public utility
Was each day growing worse and worse.
A poet’s job is self-expression
Done up in tasteful bows' discretion.
At least they claim that’s what’s preferred
When spinning a poetic word.
I claim I am a foul besmircher
Of everything should be besmirched,
Especially gods should stay well churched
And hiding, letting humans nurture
What we do best: sending to hell
The other guy, the infidel.
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