patchwork #2 Times past maudlin

There was a time when strobed dancers with their fiddles
Mud matressed and humming under the soft sign of the hag
Would, with what was called, a wild raven’s three lobed stare;
Then fight with flights of fancy and so, then stay their troubles
By the strength of  bold brassy- books.

Here, in the harem in the clenched arms of vamped blood virgins,
                                                             who would scream release,

Many would  rises with oft dreams that,
against the tide of masquerading philanthropic wantons,
battle axe against  the puerile bastardy, and their twisted
                                                                             hypocrisy

                                       with  lines of terse verse duly paid
against those   by  their  vileness of time
has set viscous maggots on their  tracks
then  burned a  sense of victory;by using  faggots  on their  backs.

Oh how we have grown!  Evolved into a sense of strangeness,
Hatched by a deep claret hogs head, that’s so slowly swigged
Under sky-signs who have no sense of the corporeal sacred or
                                                                                         divine  
but how  they laugh at our sense of pastoral subliminal
                                                                  technological design.

These our false kings,tied  in  a naval knot how they  softly and with
                                                                                    depth groan
Despite their cleanest hands, their  viscously cruel  heartless ghost’s
Are marked then mocked  by the sallow  price of  pin stretched skin
                                           To show the weakness that rests therein.

Alone and hurt the blind man sees best
While fishtailed girls, with thought,  purchase a white leg.

© adh2015