SONNET 57

Sonnet 57-O how i faint when mammoth die of this disrepute,Ignoring better days doth freedom a fugitive flees,And in the eulogy thereof,deafens these deafmutes,To banish hauteau of their silvermoon,not debouching heels in trenches,But since their desolate desecrat'd as eternities are,The triumphalist dickens hegemonic sways,as insolent as ever but nobl'st doth ditch nirvana and public paradise, Their dithers ditto,wrenching silvermoon in disuse and ditches oecumenical bliss,On your navel,doodle doth willfully ado,And your shallowest bud,your doodlest pert,Whilst they upon thy transmogrify,will by exemplification doth dissuades restraint to suffuse thy echos of awakening ethos,Or being in this renegade league,dampens public bliss frozen by this mammoth frozen fever,i am docile in this science,They of frozen sinew still drifting and hewn of adamantinous drifter: Then if i bubbly ride and they still be cast away