Wherever his feet fall

The recessing earth bleeds.

Such a tyrant as this

Cannot condone

The loss of a single fatality.

He feeds even on his children

Though they are still small,

Still fasting in the absence

Of their dear mother

Who banished herself

When the windows

Of the mansion

Grew so thin and wane

That the sun itself

Served only to blemish.

A man of war,

He speaks often of peace

Promises each hand

Within his clasp

Benefits and immunities

Knowing all the while

That he shall reap

The most fertile soil

In their demise.


Wherever her feet fall

There is a mantel

To disguise the filth.

Such a siren as this

Cannot but forsake love

Having known too early

The corpses that bloom

When intimacy is forced.

She does not hate men

Only the memory

That occupies their faces

And their terrible phalli

That brand in penetration.

She never wanted children

Not because she could not love them

But because she could not spare them

The cruelty intrinsic in this world.