One Answer is a Farce

A! A! A minus.
Answer: why not perfect?
Shoulds carry the force of
Damocles, a lance, no, 
a sword, the right metaphor
for the academic punitive 
the malaprop's fraudulent claim
to be just a little wrong.
Under girders, ground.
Borrowed birders, sounds.
Chirps hail storms
while firsts mail dorms:
future home for high offices
held by the always on, ever accurate:
society's benefit? That's the 100% claim,
no failure is the great clamor, graded 
vertically, the curve be damned to the
hell of every mistake that could have been
avoiding, with greater care, greater study,
greater nation, greater robbing graves.
The dead have a lot to say: we would not
be here in the event that everything went 
according to plan.
Time's space between rocks
is a hard place
and the way the smash goes
there is randomness, of course,
but obviousness begets thrust
and the failure to accept
something other than a launch.

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