Word Fright Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

all for you, superannuated, desiccated erudition,
this propagation scribed, this apotheosis odium;
under eructate flames, under the epitome of,
euphonious, promulgated magniloquent inception;
of the Maker's exuberant false belief, in each of you,
this written punctilious event, come full circle;
rising to the very cusp, from titubate cathedra,
wherein the last of pure worshipers, in chants;
celebrate the edification cleared, to your last days,
by those, with their own amphigouris conjunct;
this of your quintessence, to show tutelar beings,
nothing, but exemplification of pride and dominance;
arise, you opprobrious center jestee, then look up,
to the center of infinite, lonesome screams;
this day's iniquity is all you will fight for;
these last importunes, are all for you, one last time,
histrionically, making way, to move forward;
to the vertiginousness, of sand, sweat and ground,
denunciatory yells and screams, are all for you;
bow your head lower and cross this palisade,
to the center, until you hear a rise of yells;
the pitch perfect roar, cannot stop the gods,
until you are circled, in yourself, by all of us;
this last chance, for you to soutenu forward,
until you ululate for the dust from the dead;
this all for you, your torrid tomentum, this tined fork,
made to transfix all that has become perpetually you;
accompanied incessantly by these sanguinary tridents,
all for you, aimed at you, the fountainhead raising;
these enduring entry points, standing at your fundament,
in themselves, distinct in that you be one all for you;
one more is all, one more to extirpate, for this is all,
this wright's sword your will needs, even if this ends;
all from you, the all for you, is all you will ever need,
are you ready for the all of these acuminate moira?