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Primitive Twinges by Colin Whyles

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Primitive Twinges Copyright © 2009 Colin Whyles

I have fashioned a scheme
With an intricate machine
That has pipes and pumps
That eliminate lumps
And tubes and syringes
To extract primitive twinges

I've devised a device
That decidedly derides
The chaos and bother
That inevitably follow
The rise of the sap
That springs in a chap
While he's young and confused
His brain still being bruised
As it swells in his skull
Fresh, unpolished and dull
A primeval swamp
Where things go so wrong
He is rendered unable
To sit still at a table
But twitches and shakes
In extraordinary ways
Of random abandon
And not once, but in tandem
His urges so urgent
His pugnacity pungent
Application of unguents
Make no less repugnant

I've determined deterrence
Serves more than severance
This machine will enable
Young men to be stable
The door will be bolted
Their stallions halted

My machine will extract
(And it will be exact)
Those devils of juices
That addle the lucid
That baffle the brain
Of the otherwise sane
It will remove with precision
(And a touch of derision)
All manner of madness
And, not without sadness,
The fire that inspires
And informs the entire
Reason for being
Though strips it of meaning

This machine will reduce
The most obstinate youth
To a measure of calm
Restrain him from harm
Like a wrapping of balm
It will act as a charm
And will quickly remove
(With rigour and kindness)
Any act that could prove
To lead one to blindness
Any tendency tending
To render dependent
Its victim of vice
To a life not so nice

But with fluids extracted
Our mission enacted
Bottled and labelled
Banked and made stable
Awaiting the conjunction
Of fit, form and function
Withheld from the owner
Until learnèd and sober
Staid and mature
Manic no more
The dice that were shaken
Now rusted and broken
No more need to withhold
Our bottles of gold
Restored with a flourish
Mission accomplished
Insanity banished
Vanity vanished

Now I've outlined my scheme
And it should be seen
As a temper of fools
Until commonsense rules
And this machine shall be known
As “Testosterone-Be-Gone”!

Read Where: 
Poetry Aloud, Benson Blakes, Bury St Edmunds
Read When: 
Tue, 31/03/2009
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