Barely Vivified Clay

A seated lump
of unforged clay
lies featureless -
an unspoken gainsay
dulled, unpolished
steel-eyed gray;
trace a thoughtless,
recondite array
spanning tables'
flattering soiree
for thronging guests
who willingly betray
raised, cajoling voices
who rantingly inveigh
passing fancy's
flatulent gourmet.

Diabolical hands
caressingly display
whimsical tides
lapping at the fray -
a signal to circuitries,
forced to obey
unrehearsed lines
appended to the play;
a submitted, torturously
shrouded chambray
of luxurious genitals,
calmed in a public bidet,
entreat officials'
sacrificial bouquet
to unlock their vaulted,
uncorrupted forte.

Unconditioned hands
thumb through a dossier,
while nearby decanted,
long-stemmed glasses of tokay
permit a sweet-flavored,
wafting, aromatic nosegay
entry beyond a portal's
hermetically sealed doorway;
surrepticious eyes steal
glancing peeks at risque,
private auctions, offering
a subliminal, opulent sachet
containing reservations
anyone might parlay
into pre-modeled vessels:
insatiable, barely vivified clay.