In this
forest we give fear, alms to the Begging
Rajah, who straddles a red-eyed dog named
Shab. M' lord, your palms once carried, gave
Vajras as gifts, cupped milk curd and batteries.
Once, riding home to the Moist Pinkish Cave
From a tour of generosities, which were your
Fetish, you came upon a poinsettia as high as
The
Fordamal Chank, at Chukka. Its star-shape
Mouths bobbed in thickets of plaited
wondry;
It's hunger smelt rough and good and
buttry;
But as your fingers slid thru the crinkled folds
In bliss, there was a
neuro-chemical stab,
Your eyes rolled, and the Monster Poinsettia's
Incisors chopped your hands off at the wrists.
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