I say, be a Pope about epigram
And let your stanza be waiting
For cryptic one said in  finality.

Poem’s reader gets nasty shock
Ending up in an unknown path
Strewn with night’s plastic cups.

He lands an empty plastic cup
As the epigram turns decadent
In glitter of plastic eaten from.

A happy sneer in the side alley
Breeds on kitsch of plastic cup.
Melted content shines a dawn.