This Be the Curse
They fucked you up, your mom and dad.
They meant to do it, take my word.
It was all that envy they had
In that moment your life occurred.
It’s because they were fucked up too
by Sunday schools and holy men,
who half the time spoke words untrue
and half cried their solemn amen’s.
Man hands on jealousy to man.
It ferments like some baleful brew.
Come kids; start as soon as you can,
All of you could propagate too!
Paracelcus
I hear the screams of the mandrake
as they are plucked from the earth
by the cattle atop the knoll.
Their squalls reverberate
through the hills and down to the town.
In a hospital, a bloody babe
harmonizes, and the resounding shrills
persist through the corridors and intermingle
with the sonorous drilling of an instrument
that trepans a crown. Outside the town,
the echoes reach a serpent, who hisses
and writhes, biting its tail.
It’s a sort of symphony
that comforts me, and ensures
an inevitable cycle.
