Sophomoric dystopias that fill your livid
Bases mingled with sweet morrows and
Shaded hapharzardnesses climbing out
Of some noons which are shaded with
Syllabyllic time, shepherded once again
With rhyme, bespectacled with the rhythm
Of time, and riddled with the conspiratorial
Factories of many days, many nights and
The leftover grains speaking less loudly
Only because of distance, a distending
Distance stretching out because it was due.