so your utopia got dissed by some visionary nay-sayer
with some pointed questions to puncture the heavens
you'd been planning on to power the mechanics
of your hydrodynamics, your freak economics
the second that they all aligned into existence
the minute, the moment, the hour, the nick
of time was on your side, until
this bastard had to bring up some nit to pick
holes in, holes
that you knew you had looped,
isolated, neutralized, covered
six ways to the sabbath as long as no sick,
smart, cynical bastard had to have it
all laid out, cut
and dried, and
bled,
died
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