It’s Their Cheese

Certainly, O Dark-Souled Dane, a hintish
tickle of rank and foetid currents

weeping beneath your kingdom’s feet, but have
you, Unsettled Prince, sensed what stirs

across the ocean? A waft of acrid faith
twined with sourful pride beneath a haze

of festerous free, towering rot. Not some
thing, but many. Many things.