I’d deign to incarcerate

with contempt, this attempt

to pry your way back in

slippery disposition, you

serpentarium denizen

all in that oily falsetto,

hearken us toward winter’s edge

bitter ice tastes of arsenic

clove smoke, you cloven hoof dandy

dancing those jigs of infantile fancy

jackhammer subtlety screaming

False.

Fake news, fake boobs, fake crews

fake shoes, knock off blues

raping everything that moves

yea, we label you, knave.

go on home to your emptiness.

after all, it is what you most crave.

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