FUDGING IN THE BELLY OF SERPENTINING
(so keeping on’n’on hyp-notarizing being scared)

this aint no ostrich’s despair—it’s just us! . . .
still march’n on with blur’n eyes closed wide
open to the serpentining bray’n of our clans
of cesspooling mules and babble’n fools
we’re still pouring out of our communal
hypocritizings in the unwiped crevicings
of ourhustling gerrymandering profanes
regurgitationing in hallucinationing
  accelerationing regressinationings still
 oozing out in obedient infestationings 
 of convolutioning darkenings by them
original immigrationers still here  
 incarcerationing in them vaunting
proclamationings still be’n lingeringed
 on in automatonic smotherings of the
light still left right here burning itself
this aint no ostrich’s despair—it’s just us! . . .
still march’n on with blur’n eyes closed wide
open to the serpentining bray’n of our clans
of cesspooling mules and babble’n fools
we’re still just hordes of wannabe’n hustlers 
no longer pretending we aint longing
to be being like themmm shadowing
shadowings who be’n up there on stage . . .
perfunctorialling aloning alone all by 
themselves inside the same vacuuming
kaleidescoping barracoonings of
 tomorrowings rerunnings on’n’on’n’on
. . . clinging on to paper mache potions
proclaiming how there aint nothing
else left for so to be doing ‘cept a heap
more of this same old same olding
on’n’on’n’on ’til the end of on’n’on’n’on
this aint no ostrich’s despair—it’s just us! . . .
still march’n on with blur’n eyes closed wide
open to the serpentining bray’n of our clans
of cesspooling mules and babble’n fools

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