Friday, February 13, 2015

Cursed in Return

"Damn your imprecations and your eyes!
They dare to squint at mine, as if the lights
Of simple virtue that confront you there,
Were more than you could muster.

"Damn your tongue,
Tear it from the root within your skull
That channels venom from your tapster's brain,
Your tavern stocked with poisons and with purges
Fit only to bring foulness to your lips.

"May all the rubied leeches of your brood,
Steeped in the septic fluids of their sire,
Blacken in the hot light, and corrode
Like metals in a mudstorm. Let them rot,
And sprout forth toadstools worthy of their wits,
Pale and rank with pustulence, as fine
And fit as any epitaph deserved
By such a tub of maggots.

"And for you,
In final recognition of your worth,
I pile this monument of honest words
Upon the reeking compost of your days --
That mildew-spotted calendar of clots,
The tainted trailings of your toxic pit."

No comments: