One Very Sick Ferret

bask the thick red wants from this putrid monument — flecked and preened with ghasted beads, I curl up and pound the ravenous stones

blameless and dorsal, I cram the forsaken minims headbound — frame and plus me, twice and thrice, til I’m stoataxed and craving marrows

clang and sprout my compendium of gristle — just cork me right up and wreck my treacle legs

crunge my tarry reminders and kerosene-plump my speculative lungs — I’m vicious and wilting, sprouted with fresh and derogatory soil

perilous and rank, grain up and wrestle my placid flames to gangrenous inflection

frank me up, west and sideways — I’m a holy leech, clouting the terrible ridges from the charmless, wet sacrament of your lashes

crake me, unbirthed and unspoiled, out into the thick reeds of dissolution — thank you, restless and blazing mage, thank you

like a sumptuous and royal worm, I’m drowned in molasses and sold off to any empty entity with the wherewithal to bid

cronk me up with damp and journalistic gnats — thrice and thrice their tricky and masterful spores do balkan their stars through my broken gums

pour the rigid poem, like a circus of wolves, into its narrow mould — setting or collapsing, it’s allotted and craned, girthed out to pointed latitude

plump and jiving, yolk me and stir me into the marrow mixture — ristled with leaves and crumbs and flouted into thousands of bright cartons

I live to be pruned, my worst ideas the rotting twiglets, brated and cleaved from my edges — reduce me, reduce me, to my grave and creamy essence

I fizz under the harsh light, like rented thoughts — let’s clamber through the mannequins in search of a sweet, fresh slap of good sense

bloat me up with so much riveting meat — sunder my intent with your strangely bauhaus claims, and watch me flannel away

dragged upstairs, flanking my aching grains against each thick step — bilk my coursing platitudes into saintly silence

pump my lungs with wasted oil — claw me up and replete the fat into pulsating barrels, and let the thrum and whistle of robotic grey distract me til I’m clipped and smooth and sweet

clove me senseless — and whet my brating cheeks on the craggy lint of your sublime and troublesome buzzard