poetry

T{he} (bast{ar}d) ga{me} of l[if]e

If he be me, then the game of life

is truly a horrendous game.

And so they pepper your perceptions

with nasty connections to show you

how untruthful and fraudu-

lently bent out of shape your conclusions

really are.

 

And from an invasion to aliens to clones

dropped casually as incidence, all with the

intention of

making fat laughing-stock of the he who be me;

and the fact that even dearly beloved offspring

are cruelly playing games of the mind

without a second’s consideration

leads him to suggest you really are all bastards.

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