Songless his glaived horn lay cleft
Their brief melee had printed the clay
But those expired stances won’t last the day
After tramping chomping cattle pass en route to camp.
The last glacier;
The last gasp of the scamps whose strongest arms were sanctions.
The last emaciated passionate
Crazed by sustained lack collapses
In such a way that her hems are raised
Revealing a maze of lacerations
Which she herself has made
Running face to flank. From her back
She poses as if frozen partway
Through some elaborate pharaonic dance
Her hands filed to pilums
Rake away her brittle flesh, vile chains!
She begins, to the horror of the watching visitors, doubtless chagrined
At the closing of this one particular wish-granting window,
Eating her own face
Like a drink-sick bricky does his post-bash rasher bap.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment