fan me, I'm hot

a droll freak beneath the vibrating drone,
fusty air rattled by an obscene vacuum
that is a weird earthy wonder.

those droops that holster in blue and yellow
are waiting for the loins of a marching gloom-

this somnolence burns in a bronze handicap
that was never meant to matter:

we have come to praise the slick balloon
with awkward grasps at lusty grooms,
and columns lined with stiff festoons.

some cadences will rattle the cotillion virgin.