The Squirm of Deserved Ascoma


Nature at last our eviction exhaled,
a gaunt abattoir with infection regaled.
From fungus and plume our deformed wights arise,
shamble and vampirize...

The squirm of deservèd ascoma.

A species that forgot its place:
spores boring flora from out anguished face.

The squirm of deservèd ascoma.

And flower Hells,
the cruelest of misanthropies:
that emboldening what already'd
sink teeth to itself.

Horror-spore, come forth!

Possess the reign
facilitating rape and strain;
carve our hold with blooms
of croaking exeunt and doom.

The overlong dream mosses over:
the squirm of deservèd ascoma.

The last of us.

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