Gronge.
Ok Orangey grey! I yell up hyonder,
Schemer of precipitous explosion!
Compound of the saqueous liquid,
Oer looking doombringer of hosts.
Sickly sinews looking on,
Sallow flesh rump an’ ripe,
Turned to torrid iron-bark,
Rung out used ol’ spunge.
Merryweather’s forecast so prime,
Plucked an’ fed to/as one’s desires,
Eaten as I eat of mine own heart,
In saqueous orgy of Desire.
Fellow fum my ol’ chum,
We play!
An on the day that we come out in fun,
To bash an’ burn an’ roll the way in dice.
The living gamble of every day,
We play an’ forget in temptuous fog!
A gambit a risk through action an’ thought,
We bet on those around us.
Look up an’ see o’ squibitwii,
Gaze upon this sqwueord thing that blocks,
Betrayer of this trusting pleading heart,
Begone I say you Grongy thing!
D.
Daniel James Holloway, September 2013.
