Fate’s Choice (A Poem)

Abstract

Resting on a restless bed,
a ho-bag.
Gealous like the son of a motherless goat,
a supremacist of no region;
The flea perches deep on a layered nesh surface—
White, brown, yellow, dark.
Fueled with red and water,
half-smitten in tasteful ecstasy;
it glees in a sucking spree.