Done And Dead Poem by Bera Tremoz

Stretch it out good,
check yourself in the nearby
glass to your left,
polarized to perfect
efficiency,
while they twitch and
bang over illusionary walls,
cuddle through blankets,
you clip through the
bearing prints
that painted your
braincells some four
years ago
and curse at the fact
that the trembling
of the cars
is not as important
to quote as the
sadistic need to unleash
a few foul notes
onto deflowered parcels
of recycled foliage
and if you don't do
something
anything
about it, the pithole
will greedly smile at you
and open its clitoris
like a monkey in a snake
cage
just to let you know
it's all done and dead.