Grappling infrequently with the engine-driver's antibodies
These comedy moths
With pinions of gauze
That dance on all fours
And sabotage trains
Are creatures of Thoth's
And feast on his brains
He feeds them on silk
With pikelets of brass
That are of one class
With comfits of steel
All lashed up with milk
One hell of a meal ...
But Set wants their eyes
So piercing and slight
And loving The Light
As passion that burns
With a flame that is white
With rabid concerns
'Bout what's before us
And what's behind
The things that you find
At Matins, or Mass
Praying to Horus
For more Laughing Gas
And more papyrus
For noting our vices
And novel devices
When Isis is lost
Likewise Osiris
At much greater cost
Contributors: | Roland, P, Apsley, loaf, fester, Beefy. |
Poem finished: | 2nd October 2002. |