an almost accidental gathering of poets
 
    
 
 
e. e. cummings
 
Jehova buried, Satan dead,
do fearers worship Much and Quick;
badness not being felt as bad,
itself thinks goodness what is meek;
obey says toc, submit says tic,
Eternity´s a Five Year Plan:
if Joy with Pain shall hang in hock
who dares to call himself a man?

Go dreamless knaves on shadows fed,
your Harry´s Tom, your Tom is Dick;
while gadgets murder squawk and add,
the cult of Same is all the chic;
by instruments both span and spic,
are justly measured Spic and Span:
to kiss the mike is Jew turn kike
who dares to call himself a man?

Loudly for Truth have liars pled,
their heels for freedom slaves will click;
Where Boobs are holy, poets mad,
illustrious punks of Progress shriek;
when Souls are outlawed, Hearts are sick,
Hearts being sick, Minds nothing can:
if Hate´s a game and Love´s a fuck
who dares to call himself a man?

King Christ, this world is all aleak;
and life preservers there are none:
and waves which only He may walk
Who dares to call Himself a man.
   
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