Lit-Mag #46 – Madrigalesque
I wish I didn’t wish I wasn’t dead: a madrigal
Me n me trumpet are lying
in a nest
of bedding watching
Our Premmy Minotaur
Like a sweating tub
o rot n putrescence fester
under hoof lights
in clusters
of roach eggs
O pestilent importuning gibberish!
O necrotic bovine abomination!
Cleave to your cloven chancres like the breast-milk of evil!
Someone’s lost the remote
so we won’t go changing.
Gobbets of sweat hillock
The Minotaur’s brow;
Seething lice robe him,
White tongues lave him.
The glass labyrinth
Clones furious avatars
To cloud through
Swarm the sky.
The coroner who commands
The threshold of the dead
Hides in the blue gums’
Fury to let him pass.