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A Billet Doux From a Philophobic

written by: Asceticquill


It's hard not to abhor
people, things, institutions,
they break your crasis
rollicking with chortles
as you bleed,

I ringent my
waterloo polestar
and drink in the gift
of salty sylphs,

sipping from a
jeroboam of dubiety
and acidic aspires,

I throw it down
like a fifth of
faded reveries,

ardency has always been
a suttee salle d'attente,

a hemic riata
drips with penitence
from a chartreuse manchineel
citing my solitary confinement,

an internecine cutlass
slices the hiemal thump
hanging from a
hackneyed facet,

faux pas sprouts
from a quince of odium,

as a crimson ululation
caresses a grody pastiche
cauterizing the stretch
of another apocryphal



Just sharing rhetorical reflections.

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