Could I have faced that raillery?
Defaced them all?
Following the liquor and the substance-induced brawl,
after shattering clavicles and rattling caterwauls
would I still condone the monsters that tout esprit de corps?

Here I stand staring upward at the mezzanine floor.

Had Dr. Lector exquisitely vivisected:
What would have been the verdict
after all?
If someone leaning, disbelieving 'gainst the misconstruing wall
spun towards a mocking colleague and laconically drawled:
"Nothing short of sheer audacity,
promoted well beyond his ca- ha ha ha ha -pacity."

No!
I am not John Lennon, nor was meant to be;
but a tinkerer, rightly scorned
and should I die tomorrow, who the...
who the...
                 who the hell would mourn?
In nothing,
nothing,
nothing
have I favourably performed.
Though I have
                       tried
to woo at work and work at play,
be flirtatious, full of trifling bonhomie,
turn the tragic and moronic into obsequious comedy.
No-one
has been deceived.

I look back on those times and feel absurd.
I was shouting; not laughing.

No-one heard.