Jump Trope (or The Malice Contained In A Dimwitted Caress)

In the remote event,
of external decompression,
pray to god you are not dead,
just resting,
pining,
for a Mediterranean fjord.

Fuck you, and your kind.

Bend over and scrape a piece off that monumental pile
of citrus fruit peels.
Jack a hammer up a slope.
Serenade the morning with a mouth
full of nail clippings.
It’s always wonderful to be back
where you started from.
Delegate, then super-delegate
a penis into a deformed cavity,
an arsehole onto the crest of a wave.

My spunk,
as basis for the bastardisation of a plagiarism resembling the formation of a romantic relationship.

Puss and dust mites.
Jaundice for your black heart.

Relocate to Cape Verde,
and somewhere there,
manage to silently drown.