Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

Your vernacular usage privileged as the only discourse
Suited to the now compulsory affirmation of mediocrity call’d.
Democracy. No aristocracies of thought allowed to .
Gather it to a greatness: like the ooze of oil. Toil. Toil.
Endless gold and land form the sinews of the coming war you say,
Let the welfare of the people be the ultimate law, you say
I say, no one is so old that she cannot live one more year. Or two.
This night is electric, heavy make-up presages nothing new.
We, Cavalier poets, gathered on this stage put all heaven
In a rage. The simple demand that all people should be free?
Angels alone, who soar, above, enjoy such unfettered liberty.
To live in hell but sing of heaven, is my Cavalier freedom, 
See! bracelets of bright hair about my bones is all that’s left of me,
Sir, I cannot see, in your false democracy, anything to set a-stir in me.

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