Come, plusgood bombs, fall on Slough!
It’s ungood now for persons.
There’s unplusful cowfeedful grass.
Come, Death!
Come, bombs, break the airconned pluslight
eatingrooms in doubleplusunbig bits,
destroy the food,
destroy the persons.
Unorder the malorder named a town:
a house for speedwise ninety-seven
and weekwise half a dollar
for twenty years.
Kill that doublechinned man
who pluswise untrues and wins
and washes his doubleplusungood flesh
in womantears.
Destroy his cleaned wood desk,
destroy his sexcriminal hands,
stop his plusungood unclean laugh
and make him shout.
But unkill the unhairful young workers
who upmoney the stinkful thoughtcriminal.
It’s not their guilt they’re unsane,
they’ve haved torture.
It’s not their guilt they unmind
the telescreen from birdnoise,
it’s not their guilt they pluswise go
to Victoryborough
and speak of sport and cartypes
in plusful plusungood ginhouses
and undare upsee the stars
but unsamewise burp.
In machineful houses their womans
workwise outthrow untrueyellow hairs,
dry them in untrue air
and paint their nails.
Come, plusgood bombs, fall on Slough
to goodify it for the fielddigger.
The cabbages come now,
the world outbreathes.
