Poem: Bedlam
A dense and enfeebling fog
First it came with soft and muffled steps Then it came with thrashing hand Making such a rumble with its tendrils in pinch Taking time to build a life of unnatural bind A little fool standing up and with a jowly face From the chapel, in the middle of the pews Thus spake of winter weathers where socks would wither Where thaws of whisky juice and vintage fumes Make creatures reap on righteous nights So they saunter on with leather in wear Stripping the rubber from their barrels Blessing the houses with daggers of despair Rabbits in a meadow scatter like spirits So they jutted onto fields of madness Now the palace has their secrets unraveled Bursting from a maelstrom of desperate moaning There with upheaval stirring Always there are vandals with hopes of planting The village willow into deeper cesspit This excessive plodding awakening the corpses Scourges of masses writhing in boxes Suffocating in sweat so bitter As those they steep in bedlam Stirring in the juices of peril
