© 1995 Dave Awl
Lay of The Antimuse
Ring me the knell of the hiccuping idiot,
tear out the tongue of the celibate scribe;
devour with silence his cries and his canticles,
marry the dark to his eyes.In the moldering cell of the blessed apostate,
fathom me down to the nock of his thought--
poison the impulse, garrote the delivery
strangle the seminal, blistered and taut.Bury his blessings and unmake his elegies,
choke the grim deeds of his gravest desire;
let him weep in a circle of straining uncertainty,
cough in the dust of a counterfeit fire.I will regard him, and safekeep and render him,
I alone secret him, twined with my roots:
when he sleeps at the end of my fugue of destruction
I'll pay him in silver and gild him in suits.