Sunday 9 June 2019

Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth


Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth



I know what eats you.
Tangles your insides into knots,
like venomed serpent skeins
constricts the blood to your veins,
mortars flesh some minted 
pastel green.
Mottles you, throttles your
iced dreamed-frozen heart, 
tears like hail
forked head devouring tail
uncrushed by your own woman seed;
oh, far too late: now to grieve.
Snaking backtracked betrayal. Greed.
Dismayed at all it has achieved
when weighed 
against friendship thieved.


They’ll crucify you for it, 
but you know that of course,
unhappy sits the head that wears the crown.
Those who play most foully often win,
but thereafter crush-shoulder sin
sport puzzled frown upon the brow,
for where is all the laughter now?


It’s dog-eared your face,
easy now, to look and trace
the whiplines there.
Crime slashes deep shrouds, 
cloud blacked eyes from lack of sleep:
and though you wish to smile was free,
you observe but you do not see
that I have lost things too:
And you know what eats me,
the scorpion I swallowed did not suffer,
it lives and feasts in my gut,
strikes his flash venom toxic flame
slowly seeps his poison to the brain,
leisurely now, long time does creep
concrete set crepuscular hours, weep
for friends lost to canker callous,
outstretch palm tree hands
to enemy’s jealous
sharp tacked bloodied nails, flesh to wood
where all that was once true and good
turned by agonies lathe to filthy history.


Now reading your degree 
in misrepresentation
is the mission of the dying nation:
blame all; it is easy to fall into temptation.
Laid traps into which you willing walked,
soundproofed love’s mouths against talk
setting friend on friend,
shape you world records in backstabbery,
lead-clad new lines in smash and grabbery,
dial down children’s hope to sit and gloat
on the pinnace of austerity’s shabbery.


Oh, masterful masturbation 
over seedy decline
legalising murder, 
in the name of crime.
It hurts, that I know what’s eating you,
copyblots my mind but
alas, no Nile of tears will ever flush
both scorpion and snake from that rank,
fetid withered bush.
Looking back, can it ever be enough?
Still, sit you incestuous, recall
you, entitle and pay each the other
what silver bespokes talentless hacks;
no going back from giving heaven the sack
that now the ice inside can never crack.








No comments:

Post a Comment