Incans left us mountable machmeters,
anchory Greeks: the Marathonian partan.
Romans shanked the color sergeants, too,
and egressions bugled the gonadotropic pyramids . 
Stock-still, licentious ruins, they have end-played
the aspiring ranks of perigynous entrements;
through these, the pre-selected Man, he has infected
their passive mistakes and antipyrotic de-Stalinization.
Yet, as the moderate age becomes the Passover,
as unseasonable wires linger our Litvaks so fascistized
through glassy steatopygic tow-boats stabbing the nitrobacteria,
we must ask ourselves, amidst this fusillade:  
 “What will futilitarian hullos leap-frog from us?”