Saturday, March 27, 2010

Look Right Through Me

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Cyclops 318

A wife of dishonor
Tricks the smutty office of repetition
Nothing kind in these strangers, says she.
A queer holy word sets our misfortunes and
Fills our country with hungry dogs whose
Enlarged secrets are brought in by
Pirates and robbers,
Forsaking god, they wish to settle this little matter
Once and for all.

Nothing being sacred, there is
Wisdom in adultery and comfort in lucky want
The devil gives us old feet
With which to tread the waiting country.

1 comment:

Richard Ewing said...

I could spend a hour or so and easily come up with a story for the last image here. It tells a story whether you like it or not. Great composition; love the hands.