Grimbeau

Just sat here watching
The saints go marching
in picking up sweets
& detritus of consumer
hellraising last night—
abandoned cellphones
grotesque prosthetic
cruel rubber masquerades—
O! to be a flea
in that golden fleece
Slurping ambrosia
Post richly deserved
beatification
An unknown soldier
Marching as to War
Seventy six trombones
In the morning sun
Kill the Pig Parade
Magic mushroom bands
Trip the light fantastic
Lambs to the slaughter
O! Muse why art though not
wholeheartedly sick
Of this daft parade
parasitic worms?