Hypo-cradle

 Set about that novel wheel and fulcrum
Dying with it our precious virago
Poor now the crash has finally come
Alone in this descent from sorrow
Bushel of creatures deaf, blind and dumb
Their mark left on every plateau
Scars found running down every chasm
Her horrid wail now barely an echo

Reborn through lithesome metals and sinew
Slaking callous aches full of the devil
Neither content to heed nor grasp virtue
Complacent with our snake oil babble
A baker's dozen lit up for congress and slough
Her bosom too wild for this mammal
Raising on up against her like there are two
Their jaws alone drew back that handle