Caterwaulings

Visions and splendour
the grasses are wild,
the olives are juicy,
the nectar falls slowly.

Waiting and oozing
that squelch underfoot as
the fat slug is ground down
Would that My thoughts,
laced and fuzzy,
hark the eaves-bough
and drip in the morntide

Wheeling and caterwauling,
                                        Who goes into the dank
slimy recesses
Many profess that,
do they know the silences
Take My hand
sojourn a while
linger in fresh Glades
and Warm cuckolding breezes,

those tales from afar,
whisper'd naught in the night
Those Silent Whispers naught
came to My door
                                       she lay there,
fecund as always
Turning slowly,
as if on a spit.

Who? Did you say - Moi?
Non plus    Mais jamais
I wish to be borne
on a bier.
When the time arrives,

Take me hence
deliver those unto Me
as I wont
always
Raising Mine face from
the entrails.