A decadent triumph
A neat and tidy orchard
Relieved of their deaths-head badges
The women strutted with certain arrogance
An orgy of washing ensued
But the lice carried typhus
As the enhanced apples
softly stewed.
-
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HIPPOCAMPUS FAMINE 
This is a pointed and very sharp stick that stirs the laundry pot, or the cider press, or perhaps even the sewers of hope that can incubate so many wriggly and toxic things..I really miss your poetry when it is absent, Arron, because no one does the danse macabre with the skeleton word-bones like you.
your layers of textured sound and sight are phenomenal. you’ve presented the real guts with excellent precision. the first four lines seem to stomp and the last slither. this is alive.