Rampaging bulls carve a mighty path beneath an unruffled veil
crashing through intricate lattices of sobriety
Bells in the sanctum peal over the roar of thundering hooves –
tolling ‘Calm! Calm! Calm!’
as gallant pillars erected in times of despair
stand firm against the rampaging surge
– a surge that started from a sock
A sock of unmatched quality
soaked in insidious splendour rumpled and thick seeping viscid ick
permeating the air with H2S flavour
mingled with the insufferable perfume of insouciance
It leaves a rancid trail in which blood-red toadstools blossom and thrive
vacuously and viciously congealing in the wake of its venerated rot
A gift from sock
this socking sock
SOCKING SOCK
Socking lives with its overarching gloom
out of which those toadstools bloom
sniffling shroom
exacting the moon
Til’ abiding no more the Bulls of indignation rise
Now stampeding
Now unheeding
Forming a relentless tide towards the final wall
The wall that restrains it all

A tic breaks the surface

Deafening plea ringing
The wall will hold
The wall of will
will hold

Cover image by Juliana Amorim on Unsplash