I Like To Write Poetry
[b]Events Precedent to the Impeachment of Donald J. Trump[/b]
Can we ignore the vital verisimilitude of novices in the courtyard who espouse fortunate indications of felicity and undertake ignominious and depraved signs of intransigence in the outermost recesses of the mind or can we assuage the hurts of a thousand arrows thrust into the heart of destiny while entering the paradise that all men feel is their due under unfortunate circumstances that vituate the laughter and the merry wit of Shakespeare in Henry IV while Falstaff and Prince Hal argue about the size of an angel on a pinhead while the sun sets at the equator at 6:30 PM in the afternoon and rises early, at dawn, since the caravans muster support for Arab princes in the Sahara desert indicating the grievous crimes of Muammar Gaddafi in the hinterlands of the universe including the undercover agents who tracked Michael Flynn in the Mueller investigation and understood, or alternatively, surveilled Michael Cohen in the Southern District of New York for wherever we look the tuna swim in the Pacific and dwell in warm waters off the coast of Ecuador and tourists trample on the ruins of Machu Pichu, considering all that has gone on and will go on, during the administration of Chester A. Arthur who undertook a reappraisal of the United States Civil Service system to make it more amenable to accountants and lawyers and who, arguing before the Supreme Court, leveled grave accusations against the infantile plantation owners who kept African slaves in bondage, lo those many years, and whose cotton fields yielded the fruits of servitude and misery of the masses and caused a civil war between the principles of freedom and justice and the debauched evils of a corrupt system – and certainly we will never give in to the European potentates and rulers whose failed monarchies and villainous Bolsheviks destroyed the capitalist system in Indonesia under Sukarno, whose only accomplishment was permitting women to publish the fatwas of the imams who preached mercy for the underprivileged and sad and unfortunate children who had been abused and left to die in the rain forests, and, yet again, involved colonial tyranny that enveloped a continent and made us weep over the fate of mankind, all the while envisioning a sale of Bloomingdales that would only benefit the shareholders and leave other merchants of large chain stores scratching their heads because they could not comprehend the enormous losses on Wall Street that preceded a premiere performance of Tristan und Isolde in Buenos Aires – for who could have foreseen the enormous costs to humanity of hoarse, overweight opera singers, many of whom had lost their voices crying out for Freedom and Brotherhood! notwithstanding the chromium license plates on the limousine of the President of Chile whose horse traders and other miscreants had disavowed the languishing masses waiting for a train to Far Rockaway, while Mrs. Palsgraff, decked out in lewd hosiery, and her devious lawyers cooked up another crackpot scheme to file yet another lawsuit that would make her rich beyond imagining and allow her to buy a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue, across the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or perhaps be gifted a luxurious condo in Moscow by the President of the United States, hellbent on currying favor with Vladimir Putin.
Can we ignore the vital verisimilitude of novices in the courtyard who espouse fortunate indications of felicity and undertake ignominious and depraved signs of intransigence in the outermost recesses of the mind or can we assuage the hurts of a thousand arrows thrust into the heart of destiny while entering the paradise that all men feel is their due under unfortunate circumstances that vituate the laughter and the merry wit of Shakespeare in Henry IV while Falstaff and Prince Hal argue about the size of an angel on a pinhead while the sun sets at the equator at 6:30 PM in the afternoon and rises early, at dawn, since the caravans muster support for Arab princes in the Sahara desert indicating the grievous crimes of Muammar Gaddafi in the hinterlands of the universe including the undercover agents who tracked Michael Flynn in the Mueller investigation and understood, or alternatively, surveilled Michael Cohen in the Southern District of New York for wherever we look the tuna swim in the Pacific and dwell in warm waters off the coast of Ecuador and tourists trample on the ruins of Machu Pichu, considering all that has gone on and will go on, during the administration of Chester A. Arthur who undertook a reappraisal of the United States Civil Service system to make it more amenable to accountants and lawyers and who, arguing before the Supreme Court, leveled grave accusations against the infantile plantation owners who kept African slaves in bondage, lo those many years, and whose cotton fields yielded the fruits of servitude and misery of the masses and caused a civil war between the principles of freedom and justice and the debauched evils of a corrupt system – and certainly we will never give in to the European potentates and rulers whose failed monarchies and villainous Bolsheviks destroyed the capitalist system in Indonesia under Sukarno, whose only accomplishment was permitting women to publish the fatwas of the imams who preached mercy for the underprivileged and sad and unfortunate children who had been abused and left to die in the rain forests, and, yet again, involved colonial tyranny that enveloped a continent and made us weep over the fate of mankind, all the while envisioning a sale of Bloomingdales that would only benefit the shareholders and leave other merchants of large chain stores scratching their heads because they could not comprehend the enormous losses on Wall Street that preceded a premiere performance of Tristan und Isolde in Buenos Aires – for who could have foreseen the enormous costs to humanity of hoarse, overweight opera singers, many of whom had lost their voices crying out for Freedom and Brotherhood! notwithstanding the chromium license plates on the limousine of the President of Chile whose horse traders and other miscreants had disavowed the languishing masses waiting for a train to Far Rockaway, while Mrs. Palsgraff, decked out in lewd hosiery, and her devious lawyers cooked up another crackpot scheme to file yet another lawsuit that would make her rich beyond imagining and allow her to buy a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue, across the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or perhaps be gifted a luxurious condo in Moscow by the President of the United States, hellbent on currying favor with Vladimir Putin.
