by Steven Bishop

 

When dank

the plumes of colored beasts,

when shifting

are their words,

you shudder at the wretched screams

of paradisal birds.

 

The empty call of hollow trees,

a woman burned at stake;

you wander aimless

to your home,

a child's head to break.

 

You wicked thing

to follow all the people

of the devil;

you know that all your deeds of good

are for the sake of evil.

 

So bring your heart,

prepare it now in heaps

upon a plate,

and bow before me,

quivering,

in hunger and in hate --

quivering and bloody

for your untimely fate.