Coprophage

Coprophage

The cockroaches came today

but I now do think

they’ll beast with us forever.

Prodding it with my toe,

it scuttled for cover,

young, bum trinket bush tucker

flittered, like a feeble fucker

but far too late,

flushed watered demise,

victim of my quick grasp

and keen witted eyes.

They blow in locust clouds

from west to east,

passing stools of emerald shit

in the get go altogether

trash attracting trash,

like poles that don’t repel,

heatseeking effluvium stench and smell.

Now, not going to lie to you,

I suspect these bastards can fly,

hanging clotted from ceiling,

they drop, bury in your hair

get under thick skin,

approximate to a grin

of copulating piles of sin,

falling, falling fast

into your shit, onto your lap

always seeking out leftover bits

sucking in crack through crack

blowing off each the other

tossing into cold chips

and grease

racing relentless

to vomited up feast

littering bits of marble floor

until sated, cannot swallow any more.

I’ve heard their confessions

belching end of days,

in eructing rhyme,

cheap sheet music keeping time,

shuffling soiled tissue pages,

mumbling hymnal rock of ages,

prayer booked by grit-yellow

fingered dog collared

scumbag priest,

see how quick they return to yeast

nail scraped from between toes

held lingering digit to nose

licking long and sickly savour

each and every fungus flavour.

Racket as each the other screw

one on one, two on two

entrance exam to obscene zoo

squealing yes, yes, crying comes

in song sung crude,

assaults your ears in rhythm lewd

it sticks in too deep,

takes turns and turns and turns about,

then with gobbled shout,

clings happy to slappy slag heap

grinding gruesome, thrusting cheap

until spent at last, with matted locks

revisit reeking burger box.

Flocking into East from West,

you’d think they might be glad of rest,

no, seeking turds and eating shite,

scutter coprophages into night.