Burn them
Burn them all she cried
I am the industry vacuum
the gullible bin
fash-frocked faux fur
spring-step, hay-wig
a nuisance firework
Networked, abused, single use
every day a new way
“You’re so last night” they say
Bleaching fish
bleaching stars
beagle-tested
monkey faces
pout behind extinct feathers
Your ra-ra wrapped volume
evaporates
in the twirl of a discarded cloak,
shape-shifting
oriental face-changer
breast heave
My mind’s hand seeks your landscape
As if that attraction could be mutual -
but like a trap, bait is not discerning
You must wear your beaver
bear your badge
or bury your bulges -
and save the earth quietly
(Says I -
who folds like a broken deck-chair
under scrutiny of tramps or children
or worse - adults
And anyway
taste and deformity
kick away my crutches)