Ode to A Cretin’s Pig Craw

Sweet pig craw nostalgic
driven by careful pumps,
porcine stomach, leather hose,
bellows of the hearth-
  
Fetid, tepid substrate,
heaving archaic germs,
open for me your nozzle.
Feed me the Old Stink.
  
Haunting names consume me,
abyssal crawling words,
cosmos caged in baubles
casting micro-jungles.
  
I swab viral memory
laced on cotton fibers,
seeding seething splendor
in your generous glands.
   
The dawn’s a breaking friend
with fists of ruthless cash.
Inhaling deep the Old Stink
I stumble through pink day.
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