I hate the spectacle that makes a man of beast.
How can money make such a beast of man!
A bear in a tutu dancing for youyou,
balancing on a ball, riding a bicycle for a biscuit,
and [I imagine] bearing the whip, caged
by drunken clowns with their pants down,
and a man in a top hat twiddling his mustache
belongs in the woods.
It’s the twenty-first century: clowns are sad and the top hat is out.