Contributor: Ted Kerns
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A master in an alien discipline
can be expected to try to tie
idle hands glued to the weird skeleton,
blind to the crippling performance tests
cause. Because the fertile field beckons predation.
Barges in, dressed as life's knighted director,
let's hop to the stale institution lecture,
hear, hear, they'll look down on you if you dare wear
that shirt like tatter is an accomplishment
and profane text, so ablaze, is success's
antithesis and an abnormality besides
but this is what the castle-sculptor reaps;
see what thumbing that nose at work ethic verses
drops into thy bushel - oh how the market
shall scoff, shall summon stoogers who are not funny,
who shall chain you to your rightful, pauper, chair.
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Let's say I'm one of those guys who ended up in his fifties before figuring out what to be when he grew up, but it's not so bad because now there's little point in worrying about it.
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