Torture de Viau

the deviant crow is mine in the crevasse
its somber umber obfuscates my regard
for twinned fox bells
which traverse this maladroit pass
my feet seeming trapped inside the horse's flesh
the aqua-colored tomb of high evil
cracks under its own high tonnage
as sprites present their transparent moieties
to the apple headed charon who is sol
the voice at the center of all terror

a sea of rustic mountains makes its source
for the bull enclosed in anti-gravity
whose cool blood is living roaches
which couples with the aspic
which lives in our ass
oh such haughty dunes we tour
the serpent desires our votes today
as we glaze our fools in dances
this sun bears all the divinity of blackness
and sings with a loony choir
to the cabaret of unsorted arbors