No-one has ever been his equal
Yet quizzing him in doggerel
Is any Tribune’s timid right:
All language is dispersed in light.

The Ordinary sunk in ordinariness
Say he is bald and hard to guess.
The Archons think to find a focus
Might tear its petals from the crocus.

Country Wisdom’s top Townee,
His coat-of-arms Complicity –
The bubo of the world when squeezed
Is odium, yet some are pleased.

The Adam Smithy of our need
Commands both vile and pedigree’d.
So Mouldy, Feeble and Bullcalf
Get pricked; the audience gets to laugh.

His works are like Miss Emin’s tent –
She sleeps with all, not just the bent,
But stencilled on the flapping walls
Legitimation calls and calls.

Music does it better, so
He has a journey shortly to go
But never come to that fine palace
Up a beanstalk from the phallus.

We writers want him as our Prince
A crazy public to convince
But would he even place a bet
On redemption via the Internet?

The dark house and detested wife:
After marriage, get a life!
Start out defeated – the glory is
Your Art shall seem vitorious.