Thursday, August 1, 2019

Poem by RAW

Song of the Well-Adjusted

By Robert Anton Wilson

We are ten thousand normal men
     our ids are well-disposed, sir;
Our genders are so definite
     they'll never be transposed, sir.

We swallow all our fear and hate
     and never dream of flight, sir;
We do what's expected and think what's expected
     and sleep well in our beds at night, sir.

Our heads are free from shock and storm
     in our little ostrich holes, sir;
And we fit so snug in the TV womb
     we hardly miss our souls, sir.

Source. Arlen Riley Wilson poem at link. Thanks again, Martin Wagner!

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