death to teachers all and break them on wheels for their whinging oh oh the youth care not for poetry who are gathered here to rebel only and nevermind their chains 

they all are bastards who so smugly thought their charges good or bad for wanting to be taught 

who stood like scarecrows with their hermit lamps declaring all dishonest who decried their camps 

death to them and damned their memories who kept the gates with words and numbers, told us of our fates 

the best of them were worst, who could have stood aside, released their hold, refused their charge to blind us with their lights 

back on my bullshit

with nothing left but death alone we organize

by twos and by threes and by seven by seven by sevens

dropping back occasionally

swinging down to pluck some feathers but

where we go will work out

we're moving 

together