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The wailing, the howling at every doorway,
At every face seen, “Oh, sallow-cheeked bastard,
Obeisances, now, I demand of you!” and amid
Hundreds of books, all read, you deign to lecture
Me thus? That I may do this, that I oughtn’t to say
That? That you have decided this defect of my blood–
In the narrow, empty chamber of your head–means
I do not care, I could not ever understand? You dare
To tell me what words I may and must not speak?

You moron, piss-stain down the front of your pants
At the slightest hint of disagreement; you are less a
Hunter than a scavenger, searching the entrails of my
Words for other words, that feed your puerile bilious rage;
You are, you tool, a symptom of the plague that cannot be
Avoided, a black mind-curse, a chancre on the tip of the spirit,
With your broken logic, your paltry demands and your
Implied threats. You don’t understand, do you, you dog?
You can take precisely nothing from me that I want.
Except the future of your own kin, for you are,
A sign in yourself of how lasting this sickness will be.

Ah, and you thought you could push my to heel, to obey?
You didn’t expect I would bite back when you barked, neh?

And your handshake at the end, unmistakable as cancer,
A promise: I shall watch you with rheumy eye, with my
Screeling voice ready to decry what you haven’t said.
I shall bitch and whine how and when I am told to do,
And tattle, and take my tattling slow, and lie,
While the city burns, while rapists rejoice and kids are
Immolated one by one upon their desks.
I abjure you,
You anachronistic shitbag of a man.
The door should break your ass on the way out,

But I am better than that. And better than you
Might give me credit for. And yet, this seems as good
A reason as any to slam it as hard as I can, when I
Take my leave of your company, and of this little room.

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