but then he abused his wife,
although Bertand "Bertie" Russell
picked up some slack, secretly, natch, wink)
and we live in now forever
and it's all some egghead's
lucid nightmare
with us hearing, over and over,
"It's a cookbook!"
Foxes chasing us chickens like
we back in Peloponnesia again,
Socrates on the make,
like Al Pacino in Cruising; they said
he was a homo in Serpico anyway
and the fascists shot him in the face.
Ecce Homo sapien! he said.
What's your excuse?
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