then thou emerge,
perturbing the tranquil mist,
an animal thyself,
more like a swine on horse.
thy face, an operatic pamphlet,
and the pitch so baritone.
filthy living leather,
fidget within thy mouth,
dribble the liquid,
spread the stench.
thou, a blackguard
slit with axe,
even the poor adherent who,
can’t help but cleave
smelling the filth.
thy amoral revolt
can’t blur the truth
may disperse it briefly
as a cloud blatant

Written for wordle#35


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