xanthous king

i have been made
sick.

stomach turned up in churning expletive
and irritated quick;
lemon zest in open chest
and hate's ears pricked up
yearning, expectant
and aggravated crick.
neck angled darkly,
dreck arcing from angel shard
to heck if i care.
fair warning:
you're an excrement
faking heart and shaping
tart wreckage into paper hearts.
artistry in urine flex,
farting in pretentious shake
and vapor. pardon the expression
but your testament to heaven-sent
and better-bred
is fucked.

and from my grave
i see your rut.