Poem Hunter
With Respect Sir You Ain'T Got It
(04 October 1943 / Germany)

With Respect Sir You Ain'T Got It

It's you and I,
or you and me,
and he and she
consider her,
it all depends
on loose-knit rules
which, picked upon
by stupid fools
makes up a language
not phonetic
and prostituted
by pathetic
but loud and pushy
men with papers
in frames, inside
their heads just vapours
of immature
and quite inferior.
Foul excrement
fills the interior
allowing nothing
but cheap shots
from primitive
and well-cracked pots
cognition can
proceed on levels
that normal humans
left behind
in early childhood
yet the devils
of faulty genes
that make their kind
cannot be changed
it is not prudent
to even try,
if you're deranged
to take the plunge
become a student
the one thing
you can do is cry
when they all see
the dingeling
who smokes the weed
and feels the high
but not to be
is your true fate
which, to the world
it has indeed
been now revealed
that on your plate
a moron's portion
much too big
and if you steeled
resolve and nerves
and used contortions
you still would fail
I am afraid
that once inferior
blocks are used
to build a man, then
nothing hale
could come of it.
Though misfits
keep the world amused
and thus contribute
their small bit
It makes you wonder
why creation
would so divide
the chaff from grain
is it for simple
perhaps I will, at that
go ponder
about the rationale,
the vain
intent to see the
other side
and if I find
a truth I shall
go through the land
and lecture to
the deaf and blind
in homes and schools
to any mind
but not to you
or other fools
because you wouldn't

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