children in slums that pay rent on refrigerator houses
with the door still attached. Children, on the backs of horses,
suck hard at the wind as the ride home with out ar conditioning.
My wealth extends as far as her idiocy - I saved the lesson thrice,
a sign of good luck in blood religions. Baron Rice weeps with pride;
I do not acknowledge.
Though Rice jumps from my pencil with easy, I do not understand.
I can say with emphasis there is no art
even with painted faceface -
vampiric in the crooning night.
A sucker of intelligence, the Baron Rice
retreates with a best seller - into a boudoir
laced in greed.
Castled in computers, I read diligently.
Even 1 in a room
for 30, odds given to she and the Dean,
I can fix the unfixable even before
they would otherwise allow me.
The Dean knows best;
Expulsion is heresey to constant learners.
No one can reach me.