MALAMBRUNO

I'll enchant you bitches

with vines of death

that create pleasure,

take on the names

that have been imprecations,

and wear these costumes

in the sated blue

of late wet quiet streets,

filled with plants and meat

I am your profane sermonizer,

sowing fire in the blood

that waves from craven parades.

On tombs I paint with clay

and make refined sadistic engravings,

you will drink these muddy paths

and the stream they run beside

to be the throat that rides.

Educated by dissection

formed on wings of insensate steel

to be the anchor's wheel.