They came in without knocking, came before matins,
came with zero ado into the close.
They came without having to pass through the fences,
came through their broadcasts with broad smiles and asses – those
who wanted to take it all in firsthand
and not merely through some publishing house jester’s
pictorial reprint. And the questions first asked
when they reconvened after vespers were
who'd be first to market an electric erhu?
and what was more, what less authentic? The poor monks
didn't know which of their saints to turn to.
Then down through the village – beats, beatniks, hippies, punks.
Each one of ‘em was spared, each and every odd louse,
although there was a plague in every house.
And what was the reason? Consider, I beg you.
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