The Last of Our Kind

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we r the last
of our pathetic kind,
but we don’t mind
cuz we luv it on the run.

they turnd out bak
into a shootn range,
thr so well-trained
we shal not overcum.

let’s go cry with the river,
make all the luv we can giv her,
so glad she alwz gets the best of us,
for soon thr thorobreds
shall lay us in her bed.

we used to bead
a vine immemorial,
then they gored us all
with the shaft of uppishness.

we kept our seed
cuz our skins r thik,
but those restiv hiks
don’t lak for inventivness.

giv yr mouth to the medow
that she mite sing of the shadows
they cast on the throngs in her natal plush,
for soon thr drones shall calve
and thresh her droves to chaff.

and we hug the gust
from the ded-on blast
that annuls our nest every day,
as we kiss the fist
just to make the most
of the life we’ve lost
on our way away.

we walk a lot
to heal the broken ground,
it’d get us down
were it not so arduous.

thr rich remains
r poppin up evrywer,
n thr speakers blare,
“bow to the ruinous.”

say goodbye to yr baby,
squeeze him into yr daisy,
then snag yr frown on the rising trust
that thru our lifeless eyes
they’ll see that thr demise
is all they need to thrive
and so may win the wise.

Incarnadine

I used to crave you, my Incarnadine.
Only your carvings left me deified.
As the breast fell from the bone
Death felt less unforeknown,
But maybe cuz yr harvest has my mother’s eyes
I can see thru you.

You delimit life to free yr viciousness,
Recusing guilt by ingesting innocence,
That yr kill mite self-acquit
Of the corpses in yr shit,
But u noe i noe thr equivalence
Cuz I have been in you.

Yr so distraught I deserted yr scab-fucking sacrifeast.
I guess my luv lost its suck for the guts of the sad deceased.

It’s all be funeral and multiply.
Wut kind of wine goes best with genocide?
You’d see the bad scene in yr bun
Were it not so overdone,
But shd you ever care to please the countryside,
I’ll be there for you.

The less you meat
The more you meet