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
after the welter of oblivion exuberantly inaugurated new morasses
where the feeblest Venuses
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
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?
I say never
I’ve been saying never for a while
count me out
definitively infinitely forever out.
For Every Tib and Tom Cat
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