They are everywhere on the turfs of the world
Obtuse like maimed ducks buoyant on the quagmire
Waywarding vainly to cloud nine obversely dumbfounded
Swooping to the abyss beak first in a faltered race.
Some loiters on dungeons lingering on filthy walls
With brows grotesque like a nightingale perching
On a tree pruning its plumage impertinent nor oblivious
To the distaste rendered on a bystander irked to the gut.
Some fumble with faucets fussing with grey water,
Inhaling pungent odours swarming with bacteria;
Clad with wafting uniforms looking eery as ever
Like fiends from fiery hell pole dancing in their red sea.
I`m my own expert in my own right and on my own way,
I need no frankesteins drooling heinous looking nerdy.
