Odorific

There is something I smell,
that is not well,
like cats in a hat,
riding underground rats.

It copulates and populates,
the wind of another,
a foul run down of yesterday's cover.

Truly expert,
the twist of a turn,
the ill wind proves rapid,
thine nose doth burn vapid.

Inquisitive and frank,
unlikely to rank,
among the favorite activities,
of the unbroken shank.

We will and we toil,
we smother and coil,
the truth of the fate,
and a brotherless hate.

All this shall break,
above the filthy round napes,
of the cats in a hat,
riding underground rats.


- Sent by my iambic penetrometer