It entraps
as the spider the delicious fly
salivating its yearning entrails
It enclenches
with the embrace of perspiring gladiators
on the sloppy lane
It enclaps
as the prongs the rusty metal
down the refining flaming tongues
It enchants with the charm
of young untasted lovers
down the hidden alley
But stalked in its harvest
is a barn-full of
aches, sorrow, sadness, tears
Of a land scorched in vegetative desert,
fertile barrenness, endless rainy drought
flowing in drunken sleazy waltz
Of four-cycle soapbox gladiators, eyes reddened with
lust for the overflowing patrimony
to ferry across the barn-full shore
Leaving a debris of kwashiorkored pageants,
empty unschooled halls, streets manned by diseased large-tommied pin legs, amidst ceaseless oil-flow
