It little profits that an idle judge,
By this supreme hearth, among these unfit cohorts,
Match’d with a seditious wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a hapless race,
That work, and weep, and breed, and know not me.
I am rested from travel: I gnaw
Society to the bones: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have profit’d greatly, both from those
That loved me, and those, forlorn, who did not,
When thru polluted states the gleaming bullet
Vex’d multitudes of children: I am become a meme;
Always drinking with a corrupt heart
Much have I drunk and spewed; gallons of beer
And spirit, wine, hopes, rights, futures,
Mine own not least, but appoint’d by a devil;
And drink delight in battle alongside my peers,
High on the white steps of the windy District.

Viciousness is a part of all I have done;
Yet your experience is a flash wherethru
Vibrates that hideous time where import slays
Again and again when you act.
How bloody it is to watch, to condone,
To ooze unstanched, not to mention bruise!
As tho’ you had any rights! Wife piled on wife
Were all too libertine, and of one to me
Their remains: but every babe is saved
From that female slaughter, except when they’re not,
So I mention new things; Like how vile it were
For some couples who try to contra-conceive,
Or this trend in mixed sex amongst folk unlike myself
Who attempt to follow happiness like a sinking sun,
Racing, but it vanishes beyond human reach.


This is my spawn, mine own Teletucker,
To whom I owe the sceptre and the vileness —
Well-loved by me…



and so on

And The Future of NYC
(when the authorities react to meet the challenge of increased gun crime)

Now all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy bullet glances
And where thy police-step gleams,
In what triggerhappy dances
By what citizen’s blood-streams.