• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 03
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Duty is so well kempt. By def replete
With self-effacing malcontent:
The collar pinched, the brogues patent,
The shirt Gingham check double pleat.
The handshake is modest, blithe and slack,
With a grave wide grin, that gives no hint
To the vast dark tenement
Of vengeance beneath. This modest & meek
Facade are two barrels stocked full of hate,
Flaming reckless against the buttoned tide
Like some vast existential V-sign.
It cocks and shoots and breaks and spits
Spent shells on neat piles of ambivalent need.
Remove the face to see the void behind.