239. bertram the fourth (they call him that), born

bertram the fourth (they call him that), born
in olive to ancient (a lineage) wore
slacks and a tie, and when humans came by
he’d taste them to see if they’d succulent slide

a côte or a roast, it’s one, or at most
two helpings when bertram is human flesh hosting,
but once it’d been buried in smythe (XO)’s PEARS
the hope was that nobody’d notice or care

clive, also, with a couple of pigs
had done some stuff probably (he’d) rather was hidden —
the rest of the peas smythe suffered had been,
and LIVES OF THE PEARS to top secret concreted (was)

if anything shows that a state has a bone
(a heel, an achilles) it’s peccadilloes,
and one or two lunches on human flesh much is
(not) a big deal between friends — a republic

is founded on facts, what you talk about back
(behind) we won’t mention in print or a pamphlet,
and marked (EVEN IF) as the lies of the king —
you see that the civic revolution was sitting

on a gold mine of sorts — olive was forced
(would) if a field two miles away snoring
tent in with two (not polish) prostitutes
hadn’t the money to pay down the proof

king olive (paul) for all of his faults —
large and redeeming (not), absolutely were awful —
had money no clams, not a bean, not a band,
not a whippet, not whatever you’d use to contract with

he’d got a whole group of underground suits
that olive was filled with, efficient but useless —
underground olives are fraught with for problems,
for example they move very little and stop when

they meet on the grass a murphy or mask
or beetle or brown shirt or anything apple,
they won’t work on tuesdays, or wednesdays, or fruit days,
or market days, motor days, meal times, or moving days
(cont.)