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Poem	'Oyez, oyez!' The Man Who Did Not Deliver is before you for his deliverance, my lords. He stands, as charged for This by banks, That cops, by lawyers, by publishingers for Them. I doubt he'll make old bones. Be. I warned him, of a summer night: consist, consist. Ex-wives roar. Further, the Crown holds that they split himself, splitting his manward chances, to his shame, my lords, & our horror. Behind, oh worst lean backward them who bring un-charges: hundreds & one, children, the pillars & the sot. Henry thought. It is so. I must sting. Listen! the grave ground-rhythm of a gone . . . makar? So what.
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