The Accounts of Ron Polar

O Mans,
O Mans!
How have I been left here,
Shouting
shouts and shouts,
in an empty warehouse?

Empty of our pretentious literary (de)vices,
these 238.2 Megaseconds

Regarding the corners of the universe,
Battling fiercely against Trixie Cox
Being the Yes-man to the Every-Ay-Hole
Headbunting [sic] the minions of
Mangerines
Purveyors of pragmatism
as they figglefucked
Before me
molars mashing

Sirs,
Record Horseman High-velocity ViscousDressing
&
Hiltonian Spire of the Heights,
Cellular fleshy organisms may you be,
or internet only data-manipulation objects,
Pseudopoet constructs:

The bell
is ringing