I summon thee to inform
thee thoroughly of the conform-
ity of Mr. Edmund Baltimore Bithdorf to his schedule
of routine perpetual
distraction, descending into hell.
His plunge into the underground fire
was not fast neither
strong, but rather tranquil
like a leaf fluttering into a leaf pile.
It took a while.
It began on the 14th of October
as Mr. Bithdorf conceptualized a metaphor
It went like this
nice and crisp
like apple cider.
Twas the season
yet there was no reason
for why he drugged and aborted himself and
disposed his being into a trash can
in the lot
and let the appearance of his being
continue on as an impeccably efficient, convincing robot.
You might think not
well of my poem as it goes by so far.
That 's because you're confused
and not aware
of what I'm really meaning.
It all started with his self demeaning
that occurred internally while externally
he remained operating just the same,
a man proud and strong, seducing the lame
beast that haunted from within.
His eternal sin
would be a burden
to his community if they were to know about it.
For many burdens society is not fit.
This contention held by abortionists
became the basis
for the metaphor that Edmund would adore
on that brisk odd day
the 14th of October.
Now Edmund
went near stark mad
lving in London
in his own little quaint
Brave New World.
His image, his system
turned unfurled
untangled, rendered open and naked,
degredating all that was sacred.
The real him was shown dead
