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Demon Demon, slither. Crawl from the crumbled edge and consume Giving pretence to Saint Peter As you slip through his eagle'd gaze. Tip your cap, about its face, Zip your youthful jacket. Meet a stranger in flashing lights, Exchange some powder in a packet Others fade away, replaced by acquainted strangers, Who grovel for policed release They violence once received. Grappling with a jocular reaper His mission is not Missionary, His perfume rank with carcass, Mottled hands blood spattered A thousand years today, any day. Writhing unto your sporadic deliberation Wake from thought to contemplation. Submit your soul, with writer’s intent, Illustrate your words. Those an age passed, turning in wood This in turn, turns in dirt. Flowers wilted, visited by autumn leaves. A passing stranger preoccupied with another. Are you remembered? The predisposition. Bear the shame.
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