He sung a twisted song, chewing on his tongue
Max Mandrake, hewn from wet tarpaulins
Drainswept gushings
A heavy thickset sweaty face
Impaled on godknowswhat
Pyramid of needs

Lush black hair in obscene scrawlings
Prettiness that nauseates
Terror focuses in the third meridian
As if spiders readily removed their legs
To save him the trouble

He probably conquered K3
Engendered small squalling babs
Had a smiling wife…
Does he remember
The  rusty cutting edge of his little knife?

She is hyperventilating
Her brain shrill with thuds and filth
He hisses dead words
For her smallest recoiling hidden parts
The insides of exquisite roses cancelled
For manure and phlegm and cut off
Hedgehog feet.


Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved


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