Grimbeau

Clunk!

The drunken drongo clambers out

the egregious red slaughter van.

His

Is a face like putrid brisket chewing.

Soon

He will be sent down into the flowery furnace.

The charge:

Serial respiration with thirty-seven charges

for being a noxious twonk to be taken into consideration.

It

Is a sad reflection that such base grunge gets written about.

More

bloody darts repeats.

Dark again.

The tide is out.

I

Am not.