Fashion this, from the Irony
Of the world
That I, the undaunted Laureate of the place, daunted in some
Un as yet/ed pre tense of what they see, they be
As if, such where they was
Was yet to be, and then to say
They is, and is not, like revelations, wow!
Humans. The skin, the lodging inside dumbness a slight breeze frees
To speak as if acquainted with small things in the world. Eating,
Belching, Farting, Murder, Robbery.
And so. As if, and them too they is. But nothing further
But the wee dots on the deletion resembling the minds of them
Yet to come.