Bewildering Stories

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Decmerion P. Newhamstershire, Esq.

Impossible, I say! Such nonsense cannot sprout!

Atrocities, high water, hell, and over-bloated trout!

No way, I say! No way, no way, no way!

How could you even think of doing something like this today!

What nonsense drives me to speak it thus I do not know.

But whatever it is that does it thus, there I will surely go.

What nonsense that evokes the slime to ripple throughout time!

What echoes of destruction amid us, three lemons and a lime!

Impossible, I say again! No way, it could not be!

How could this happen so plainly, for it I do now see!

What nonsense that evokes me thus, persuaded by the dust!

Forever lost in time and space, diffused in might and must!

Agack, the light, the atrocities foul that fulsomely quake!

No more, I say! Begone with you; you mucky life-filled lake!

Begone, and take away with you all that you hold dear!

Take it away, and leave forever; we do not want you here!

Begone, and fly away off cliffs of acrid mud and doom.

Of flowers in the sunset rising all over this room!

What nonsense! What foul absurdities, atrocities divine!

And blasphemies throughout the world, eating the gloves of nine!

The over-bloated trout condemns me to speak it thus!

The over-bloated echoes persuade me like the fuss!

What nonsense! Impossible! Absurd, ridiculous, divine!

What idiotic idiosyncrasies as these we cannot define!

The inanity! The insanity! The absurdity of it all!

The utter absurdity that awakes every spring and sleeps every fall!

The enemy of truth that diffuses throughout time-space!

The nonsense that shakes us and quakes through this place!

The awesome enormity of obscene vomit that erupts through the mist!

It strikes us like an impossible plummeting fist!

What nonsense! Absurd! Impossible yet alive!

The cube of twenty-five square rooted is a hundred twenty-five!

What nonsense! What crud! What all-encompassing junk!

That dreams of ethereal far futures and writes just cyberpunk!

The echoes of confusion me through the mist do drive!

And that is when I find myself not dead, not semi-dead, but alive!

And freedom I call it; all-encompassing freedom throughout!

That speaks with a curse, reimbursed with a purse from without!

And agack, and egad! No wonder I do digress!

Such things a rose by another name, like mine, would not possess.

Copyright 2002 by Decmerion P. Newhamstershire, Esq.