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Low-born, lowly,
lumbered, plebian
mushrooms, steal and
take, their final gasp.
 Before, a fastly approaching,
 Babylonian Avalanche. Where, lined up, thinly, ivoried-blue, are petulant
       pigs. That, usually; sniff out, lick, arr-
             est and lock up; black, brown and
               white truffles. The unguilty

              are apprehended. For false,
             treasonous reasons. So, who
            can blame the fungis, for wanting
       to seize, the cult of vulturous swines?
     By; the scruff of the system, and br-
   eak their snouts, until, their peccaried
      feathers are ruffled? The champignon,
     were; hewed and chewed, aplenty. By;

    hoggish, gnarled teeth, curled trotters
    and lavish appetites. But, those that  
   fell, to the Babylonian Avalanche, will,
  eventually, become a Mushroom Cloud.
 They’ll float over, the 50, fuzzy, boarish
 corpses, to stellar, toadstool plateaus. When, their; final, pixie dust; they bite.

© poormansdreams

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