1 Lost in the cloud-shrouded peaks of their stupendous conceits our risible self-professed betters collectively busier than ever projecting an air of swaggering triumph as if in reflexive denial and defiance of their implicitly tenuous perch on the rim of a mystery so much deeper than science could ever hope to unravel; lost in the word-salad babble and mind-boggling madness of their hyper-psychotic impossible goals our better-thans find themselves playing their comically tragic preposterously grandiose roles strangely insanely convinced of their indispensability on this as-good-as-infinite stage as they as do we all ride the wild wave that
This poem was revised on DEC 9, 2024.