Little green thing lay
squat in brakes,
plotted rotting,
scanned chokes
and oozes brewed
in gutters,
and chuckled;
they gurgled
and splashed in chunks.
Cauldron with fat
boil to match crusts,
seethes, sweats bile
in globs tapping toccata,
ekes out millennia
hexing spiders to drip venom.
Chipped pestle digs
grooves into finger skin
of toddlers who wander
too near scrawny stalks;
mortar creaks; bone-dust
lubricates murderous beak.
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