long before light
cleft the heavens in twain
a movement
of manhood emerged
unlike the unsavory
dissidents prior
his was a station deserved
he fostered conviction
amongst the rapt populace
stoically instilling mindful revolt
fully apprised of philosophies spoken
unlike static sophists consisting of molt
fervent emotions born of empathy
ever consuming his radiant heart
salient locution so poignantly posed
lingered long after he bid to depart
tales of his august aplomb echoed through the vales
prose poised to avail the downtrodden denizens
parlance empowering dispelled compatriots
apposite to proletariat wards
forged in the fires of familial defect
stuttering sopor
societal ire
nonetheless, pwning the epic drum solo
from “too hot for teacher” when he was but twelve
not having given an “F” he sought “T”
and tempered his mind with the breadth thus required
of the scant few i regard as elite
he is one by whom i’m duly inspired
Deep within this tattered husk lies the hope
to someday avow this Marxist of a man
of every last tender kiss wrought by his words
intended for naught but to better this land
Max, or Not 