And there again
you garble me
and hie id-minded
towards that pristine imago
tonight I will self-hang my lag
upon my poised, oblated maggot
you know
in the long run
your wroth bedevilment
won’t fail to mourn and nurse
my leonine flesh
unlike a jubilant hidalgo

and half of me
the one half verging on your hush
would screed along a wayworn affidavit
to desecrate your escapologist ambit.

and half of you
the one half verging on my antique writ
would demise your wild, equestrian rib
unhorsing my horseflesh’s hunger
to finally attaint their high hurdle.