The F-word!: A poem 

I was fountainhead and father of all; 

the fecundity that fertilised the fabric  

I fathomed the fire and the frost, the 

feeling of ceiling and the felt of the floor,  

that you all walk upon. Forever is a word  

that fits the flint of each foil. I am a  

field with no fern, but a forest of  

freshness. There was flood that  

ended a fiefdom and started a frontier  

of ferociousness. I am a flake of clay; 

not fallen into feebleness, but fleet as nimble. 

They thought they could fire all their guns 

at me and frighten me. But my birds didn’t  

disperse at the noise! I failed to froth, I  

did not fume! I flew, but didn’t flee. Should  

you all deceive me for the treachery against me, 

and forget the immense favours I did you all?! 

I will never feel febrile from fear or failure! 

I can just say nothing is fatal, and nothing 

is futile. I may be fatigued, but I am not fattened 

by compromise. I am no faggot to forgive 

for a false freedom. I say to you finally, 

You fish! Anthony Albanese and Prakash  

Saint Paul! FUCK OFF!