If I May
The palace, oh the palace, and its undeserving opulence
Are not enough for some. There are episodes of stropulence.
A sealed coach slips the silver out in the disguise of night,
And at the torpid bourse the nation’s capital takes flight.
There is talk of revolution, there are whispers of reform,
And anything seems possible except departure from the norm.
The mirrors on the miles and miles of aimless corridor
Are preparing their excuses. They have seen it all before.
M. Le Dauphin – how to put this – well, sir, it is late.
The clerks are sneaking off and there are hangmen on the gate:
And at this hour, sir, you choose to sit and masturbate.
new boots and pantisocracies 