Bridle on Mayhem

I fish for the fleshes 

of good sunsets,

for instance the tangerine ice 

that blooms in Antartica,

and in the manure

saltwater warps their carcasses,

my thirst is a camel's reservoir

and hunger fed to bones, 

I was teleported out of Hamlin

but my ache is rented by lease,

the menace of plague in doldrums

repugnance spat out in cypress logs,

a shelf life of honey it has,

bees howling in packs,

the moon is on an idle saunter,

a settlement out in bail,

I fish for the fleshes

of good sunsets

baiting bloodstreams

for prospective mutants,

monstrous in taste.

©songbriti