stinky indicative

you say
you have faced the cold terror
    of zero history.
  that these frozen peas
  could unpack
     the bruised fingers
     of determinism. oh
come
    with customary ease
   your leathers give lie
to hallucinate cracks
  that just don’t fly.
 what was wax
  has been maced
   by the sun
noted by congress
stolen by time,
      icy vapours
  free of stink
         of anal inversions
of rhymes
   forbidden by government
as if we were rapists
  or skirting Harvard stipends
   with Iberean burn;
         your land
   is oscillating
   dry
  then rhizome dry of wet
  you stood your ground
   when it all became impossible
 your fuchsia hands
  ringed the cries
  rung around
   each in their turn
  obfuscating
    what was clear to all:
this just won’t do.