Since dusk, my manly musk
has been as rancid as ancient prawns,
hiding in an equatorial bean bag.
My deodorant has sprouted limbs.
It has the audacity to flee Master?
I was ordained its aerosol leach.
Outrageously it strives to maintain
its reservoir of fragrant blood.
Apparently it’s read Orwell,
for it shuns the electronic homing devices
happily worn by those obedient zombies,
my keys and phone.
are you lurking at the bottom of the pond,
or hiding in those cockroach apartments,
the wall cavities?
I will hunt thee down!