Listen to the persiflage,
Of the garralous polymath.
Her tortuous platitudes exacerbate,
My wrath.

My rubicund face aflame,
Not with chagrin, but ennui.
To sojourn here makes moribund,
A kvetching youth like me.

Yes, I am a facetious wastrel,
Devoid of afflatus, this celebratory nadir
Is one ravine of one life--
Or perhaps, instead, I'm a seer.

Rara avis, I reveal myself;
An aesthete, laudable, a mental ablution,
I ameliorate, educate, with great perspicacity;
You are washed in my intellect's acrid solution.

The End

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