A poor attempt of a writer, when in a mood of solitude and neglect,
trying to overturn the inescapable run of the life, energising,
trying to fathom out the deep way that those that think might agree, or reject,
that in a certain form, alkali and acid might be one in neutralizing.
Yawning, I try to tell them of my good heart and thought, yes, and intransigence,
to dispose of, in hospital efficiency and hygiene, the lies, the rumours that get
have been inculcated amongst them, to brainwash by those of lesser intelligence,
to weaken the clean, masculine dignity of a simple, but cultivated human being, yet
one who wishes no-one harm or abrogation of duty, no out-stinging of humiliation,
yet thought by many to be an old, inadequate specimen of proto-humanity, without tolerance.
No, I cry out, that is not me, that is the manipulation of mind and manner; that is an aberration
of the truth, by those who seek simplicity and hurt, albeit in ignorance.
Press gang those people, lash them, bare back, crying, then begging by increment,
to the mast of Nemesis, who does, she told me, take my place in the argument.
In the tardy part of afternoon, common tailorbird with, I think, a bulbul came
with their mates, to disrupt, in arrogant way, a class on animal, plant cell, four types of tissue,
chloroplast, amoeba; they warbled away, inconsiderate of the young people trying to tame
a textbook they have just a semblance of normality, little understanding of concept and issue,
and to them, a useless-in-everyday-life language.
