After the fly infestation

light curled in through wooden blinds

buttery at their center

loosed heart thrummed as if rent

by the disappointment and perpetuation of

immutable cruelty.

my nemesis used to be other people

wild in their curvature toward evil

a constant surprise like grass snakes

emboldened by 2pm sun

will strike unwary hitchhiker

so too natural solace shatters her heels

against moons glib whimsy

as lurching and violent illness backtracks

finding her purchase in my bones

a glass of rich red wine poisoned softly

until terror knows only one name

sickness, sickness, sickness

roiling as sea marbles will be discovered and lost

in the frenzy of electric storm.

my nemesis used to be other people

with their myriad tricks and potions

the secreted slip of a knife between your ribs

and gutted and flayed you stand

leaving blood trail in arabesque dissolution

dancer of none.

I no longer fear anyone

not even you and your rubbered need

to inflict harm from the perfect line of your

lipstick and the dangerous symmetry of

your costume sequined in deceit and disregard.

you do not move me anymore, if ever you did

you are only blood, shit and sweat

a bag of water encased in skin and hair

pruned of solace.

you remind me of a chimera, growing inside

another person unbeknownst, foul mouthed

arching, cruel with every nudge and squirm

it is your incompleteness made you this way

soured, barbarous, prone to pique and larceny.

I no longer fear you or your kind

there is a muscular poison; one draft

and it slays gentling like a lover

over time stripping away those soiled layers

I thought impregnable

leaving behind rags and a face I hardly recognize

aged by terror just as once you hoped

with your golem tongue and rancid want

to strike me dead.

still I live

fitfully and incomplete

you’ll not find me dressing in ribbons and colors

for you or anyone anymore

I have lost my sense of taste and smell

the hue is fatigue and she is billious

lone castaway ship seeking her wreck.

still I sail

past you and your kind

who will never win more than

the spoils of a fallen world devoid of mercy

even as you believe yourself victor

nothing tainted


the piercing rays

of first sun.

2 Replies to “BANE”

  1. As I read this, in the background with volume low the radio plays a gentle mass by William Byrd. My high school Latin long neglected spares me the meaning of the words, leaving only the peace of transcendent sound. Perhaps I need such in contemplation of the emptiness of false people and the affliction which renders them irrelevant that you express so well.

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