forlorn forlorn!
who bled from thee midriff
beneath the howling stars
the mignonette smiled
through the militated heaps
of a thousand corpses.
the midwinter night
mimetic of Satan
a misanthropic breath
of a minstrel in disguise
waving a black plume
"Thou art The king of plutocracy!"
"Pogrom, I Surmise!
Pray on your knees my weak priest
in the dark precinct of your hollow faith
for the sepal shall mock
your suede clad soul
for this is the night of the Surly mistresses.”
Your smothering dark dissonant choirs
sung at the top of my punctured lungs
entice the demons of the night
summoning the ghosts of the woods
smeared with blood and enervated
Thou shalt be.
Poignant in the garden of eden
with your naked soul in your palms
edelweiss shall cover your damned self
as the prince of darkness shall descend
sprinkle thy cruets on thy wounds
for a crumpet art thou.
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