A fortune teller
said a surge will come from below
to swamp the electronic humours.
'Even fortune, virtue and contrition
will not save you.'
That being the case,
he used up all his luck,
became as nasty as could be,
even sought vestiges of the contrition
he thought he'd eliminated years ago.
All that was left at the surge:
those humours.
douglas scotney
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/b-xxiiii-electronic-humours/
