A Forest For A Fen

A Fen Of The Devil,
It Be Wet And In The Deeps,
To Twist The Trunks And Bide By Long Strides,
Further From Being Dumped Off The Banks InTo The Bay,
Coyotes Howling For Tricksters That Part The Dead...
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The Latter HoodWinked By Horned Glasses And A Cat's Lie...
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In Cactus'd Hotels Lined With DriftWood And Taxidermy,
Each Day Rented For A Catatonic CakeWalk To The Ice-Box And Back...
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A Slice Of Electric Heaven For Toasting PureBreds
Paddles In The Pool... Stares Blankly At The Desert Panorama...
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It Could Be A Splintered ChestFull Of Hell Out There... Beyond The Concrete And Chlorine,
Some Sickeningly Haunted Hole Where The Soil Turns Rusty,
Old HorseShoe Crabs Would Migrate There To Die,
Their Brittle Remains Pulverized... Then Ground InTo A Martian-Canary Rattle,
Collected In Utero And Serveing Only Vesuvius... To Survive As Its Riddled Clay...
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But Where Does That UnEarthly Whistle Lead Its Window-Shopper?
For What End To Compliment An Intersection Of Debates...?
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In Whose Boots... In Threads That Guide Growling Bellies,
By What Magician's SignPost... Blinking Arrows,
For Saws To Cut Through An American Balcony,
For Whose Poor Eager Hands To Reach InSide The Wolf's Mouth
And Brush ASide The CobWebs?