Hold this puzzle club
that has been used on me,
the one fashioned
by my own hand.
Turn it this way to see
wicked worlds of avoidance and malice
scatter from illuminations
bend from self righteousness.
Turn it that way,
oceans of a vagabond servants cut and swerve,
ignoring paramount indigents
who spit with empty chagrin.
Their dance of obscenity
inspired through popular refrains
repeating echoes of genius
down empty corridors of reflection.
Discarded husks plague horizons.
chaining their masters within the shells
of slow impatience and wanting fulfillment,
the society that aggrandizes itself.