|Martian Field Marshal Monkey Manque|
The monkey woke one day and spread a limb
and spied a feather floating on his arm.
His eye followed a line, like owners of large limousines as he spied
a lustrous, varnished beaked addition to his charms.
Primeval breezes blew concentric ripples through his Martian monkey hair,
and made his nipples sting in heat's volcanic steam.
Laconically, he left the shelter of his monkey lair
to survey the reddened sky and dream of a day when he could say
"I once was merely monkey, living near my life support;
cosmic clusters of bananas kept me feeling funky, but now they all play jester to my court".
His roaring craft paints vapour trails across the sky.
His painted leather helmet and his demon goggles make him spry.
Rebels are concussed by large hairy coconuts.
In muted words they all recite,
"Hail field marshall Martian monkey, we too are Martian monkeys who will ever strive".
These flights of fancy rolled him to the corners of his earth.
He peered beyond the very edge to see what he was worth,
through solar winds and far flung things that never shall be free,
locked in grandiose designs that trap gorillas who will never see
that they are merely monkeys with dreams they can't afford.
The birds will soar and the dolphin dive;
the bees make honey in their hives.
Each place kept warm in the cosmic line,
and every morning each recites how pleased he is to be alive.
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