Wanton

I meander throll each cheshired street,

Near where the cheshired Times does flow,
And mark in every facebook account I meet
Marks of fangs, fangs of whoa.

In every cry of every tease,
In every baby’s cry of blah,
In every vice, in every roll-on mic,
The mind-bending monacles I crave.

How the Chimney-sweeper’s balls
Every blackning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier’s thigh
Runs in blood down old junk walls.

But most thro’ midnight streets I drink
How the youthful Harlot’s sink
Blasts the muck up in her ear,
And blights with plagues the married queers.

I want an expensive, contemporary, home!

I want octopus monogrammes!