Author: Elizabeth Wright

SNAKY race my wicked crimes, pumping forth from heart to hand.

WEEDY plaques line vile veins, drawn to the

HAUTE, to the urge of brand. This venom wreaks its fatty sludge, ’till with one

TALON, grace descends and strips flesh pink and fresh and free.

FLAIL your limbs, young men and yapping labs! Race uphill and
SMELL – Lap up sweet scents of fescue and freesia.
GAUNT-cheeked no longer by rigid recitation, but again 
SHONE the freedom of happy abandon.

WOOER of words, whose wonder and whimsy  
GRIND gritty graceless granite into glorious gilded gloss and
HOARD hyperbatons and homophones to hail halcyon histories with humorous harangues, 
AHEAD of his age, amusing the masses, elevating all our affections

UNDER a post-pandemic fog
INERT minds
HUNCH over tiny screens, gaze unwavering, lacking the curiosity or compliance or courtesy they
OUGHT