Poetry

Mr Critical

They call me Mr Critical Mr Critical is my name I can find the flaw in a feather the crack in a drop of rain I’ve been granted authority by the Holy Whatchamacallit all you Masters of Shovelling Shit I be the one to haul it and all your Mighty Engines of Wit I be the one to stall it I was born under a baldhead moon I sucked on a milkless breast I got whooped with a barbed wire rattle my dolly was a hornet’s nest I run off my teachers with a two-handed axe I burnt my school…

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