Conquering A******s

it seems
    you all lost

respect in me
    hope, if you must

these callousey molasses
    they darken with

the witch's sneer
    the glare of dusk
and smirk of dawn



and this voluptuous joy
    you speak of
what is it again?      where?
    its all
cut out
    and deseeded
like an apple
    that lost
its fluids



but i laugh
    in your
shrunken
    faces
wrangled in
    bodily hibernation
hoarded guilt
    and moldy doubt
that has been
    left out in
the sun too long

    such fine wrinkles
decorate the hazards of life
    they need to be
treated.