We but pity the sellers of discontents
the stragglers from the lowlands
in fertilised inadequacy and talentless soil
carrying in lame hands glossed dirt of twisted minds
reeking unhappiness in distorted parcels they hawk envy baskets
stirring broths of miseries made from handed down family recipes
cooked on brimstones in hate kitchens they seek buyers
see the hot gloom they rustle up in doom
for sale at cost price or free
all they want is to share their miseries