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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