When importance of purpose,

When it fails to knock on your brow,

As the fingers, mutually exclusive,

Smooth imperturbable napkins

That today are called serviettes

And abundance of herbal entrees

is measured by the strings of loathing

Because, let’s be clear, this is not something you’d expect,

On a day like this, surely,

Because on a day like this, of all days.

Ah, but let’s not forget our g and t,

So as I was saying,

when pleonastic duties of congregation

noted on paper-clipped papers

when they cluster  like a great ball of snow

when you know there’s no Spring.

Then it’s all on your shoulder to carry.

And you’ll do it.

You’ll do it.

Gap of unreason no thinking can close:

The sentence you are reading now is false.