Where Fetal Narcs Cavort

IN ESSENCE neath the trimmings wreaked with love upon the boughs
GREAT BLESSINGS leak from heaven down among the tilted mouths
LIBATIONS meek with Laudanum impose their lofty growths
on vicious mounds of pustules filled with consciousness below

TIS US the craven populace
enamored of seething drones,
tis us from whom contentiousness
like blood from razors flows

tis us they cry, insomnolent
that none will placate, none will know
How vacant was thine inner self
When hapless hymns to flatulence did blow.

dedicated to Percy Bysshe Shelley