Black Sheep Blues

Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool
left for your shunned silly sullen self
or did you forget in your superthoroughness
that the proempire are unforgiving?

Yessir, yessir, three bags full
of preimbibed puss oozing
novel neoactivist nonconformity
reerupting in a manner most moot.

One for the master, one for the dame
who bore this malapropos monstrous beast
not out of love but as harkees to the harkers
of bogus biology and tacky tradition.

And one for the little boy who lives down the lane
of false philosophies where authority astraddle
and dreams dormant from fermentation
suppress shining souls most sincere and true.