THE MEN O' FINNE 

I see the men o' Finne! 
I saw with my own eyes- with this flapper in flare. 
worse then the tyranny of the marmoset 
worse then the swallow trapped in the thick tartar swamps 
worse then the disembowelment of the romping platypus! 

These druids, enslaved to the bulbous bouffant 
slaved to the crustacean trollops 
with their torso backwash squirming into 
the crevi of their existence and strife 
searching for the creature they called Somniferous 
to add what he can to their ..  bouillabaisse de resistance! 

take one spoon and you too shall be doing the Charleston- 
the coochie coo with a skexsis eating gefling tapioca,
wondering if there is a delicatessen that only serves croissants 

and what of the squid and crumpet marching towards you? 
their feet like fate! Screaming sphincters! 
they will surely ask :
"are you the barracuda? The lupus who watooseyed into the buttocks with your cutlery, and ever sassy glob and charm?" 
"No, I am the rump of a dustbunny, mortal and vermilion 
I am the frolicking wastrel- the brujah in the rough!" 

and you remember an ephemeral sphinx that once told you
it was spontaneity and lies that broke 
the asparagus tall like trees- 
or was it Nietzche and his temptous spleen, 
spewing philosophical hairballs, 
like an hysterical weinersnitchtzel, pickle and spam? 

no matter 
the squid and crumpet are marching closer with their
Celtic leiderhosen wiggling with persnickety! 
Their anti feetbed weaponry,
swinging like a giddy orangutan and knoosed swine! 

and the fantastical zeppelin 
funded by the river Styx, 
wiggling through the clouds of Macadamia,
through it's highlandic gazeboes and refined rutabaga cuisine
struck every heart of the enslaved druids 
as it crooned the bubonic anthem " Oh plethora! Oh plethora!" 

"The crumpets and squid are marching closer 
can anything help you now?" screamed the flapper, aware 
"this must be THEE large and pendulous haunting fauxpau the Dali Llama spoke of!" 

No, in these times of Pneumatic renaissance  
these times of iconhood and the dying rococo 
where the cannibals eat the lovecrafts - the toboggans and try to copulate- 
it is all a mistake indeed 

Schenectady! Infamy!

the squids and crumpets attack you 
like the epidermis that smothers the bones , 
And so you die in the arms of the flapper 
who slowly whispers "Mered..."