‘Oyez, oyez!’ The Man Who Did Not Deliver

is before you for his deliverance, my lords.

He stands, as charged

for This by banks, That cops, by lawyers, by

publishingers for Them. I doubt he’ll make

old bones.

Be.

I warned him, of a summer night: consist,

consist. Ex-wives roar.

Further, the Crown holds that they split himself,

splitting his manward chances, to his shame,

my lords, & our horror.

Behind, oh worst lean backward them who bring

un-charges: hundreds & one, children,

the pillars & the sot.

Henry thought. It is so. I must sting.

Listen! the grave ground-rhythm of a gone

… makar? So what.