The Dribbled Dead Poem by John Sensele

The dribbled dead teetering on a thread
Wondering whether to don a dread
Shred shame or shiver in the rancid river
Where by volition despite fever they quiver

Remembering why grumble when forever they fumble
Rolling in green sewage, conniving to stumble
Banging their heads against crags of the rock
That with glee feeds their entrails to the crock

In the rancid river where the crock protects his den
Brushing aside the gnashing of teeth that desecrated Eden
Pelted God with invectives
Melting in acrid adjectives

Until stomachs groaned on Mondays and Tuesdays
Cursing midgets who many an opportunity they reject on Sundays
Chasing angels who brought them advice
Insisting it's their right to pay any pesky price.