2. sickening

Sickening










who’ll anchor in vapid mournful longing

the moldering throes of another fledgling carrion

after the war meanders into abysses of lunatic entropy?

who’ll exploit in maudlin rills of silly zeal

the nightmarish afterglow that smoldering destruction

left behind

after the welter of oblivion exuberantly inaugurated new morasses

where the feeblest Venuses

startingly drowned

and the hardy ones survived only as comminatory harpies

as hags turned visceral germs in the quagmires and chasms

of our bloated midriffs

epitomes of maximum cowardice?



who’ll undescore now in girlish crimson whimpers

that all had been a boring hoax?

who’ll dare put in scene the waning skeletal steed

of surrender wagging its mangy tail at the rubble?

who’ll rub it in gloating at the spectacle

frowning rashly at the balmy foliage

of gone yellowing films

after we are told flatly that you certainly didn’t need to rescue

me?



who’ll be daunted enough and chastised and in awe

after the crux has been revealed

to be another broken pile of rotting wood

a pledge to cheat you again

another empty promise all told

that only the fluffy-minded swallowed

in the first place anyhow?



who’ll be the next moron to shrug loud and boisterous the whole mess away?

who’ll slake the still elated womb?

who’ll stave off the ebb and flow of slime

after the null the leapers smote?

who’ll usurp the crawl of the scorpion

after the finicky critics the hairsplitting critics are too shriveled

to aim their gustatory polyps at the bristles of my rectum or yours?

who’ll

who’ll...



I say never

I’ve been saying never for a while

count me out

definitively infinitely forever out.