Things of Beauty

“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes.”  
—Andre Gide      
   
In echoes bought with demons’ teeth,    
With lucid screams behind the eyes,    
The chorus speaks in sundered lines.    
   
The ink with pressure fills the nib,    
As point cuts skin in languid grooves,    
And, blood soaked, spins its lurid tales.    
   
"Beard opened, Iris, wanton slick,    
That fingers take in moistened thrum,    
Despair for her not yet awake."  
   
Were better then that I should write:    
“I penned a verse of flower's grace    
Before she left her sleeping bed?”    
   
No hellish lord would find appease    
In drivel words so obvious,    
So I refuse to write such stain.    
   
Of sewer pipe and iron rust    
Of oily crust in clotted squares,    
I have described my writing thus,    
So it remains, if any cares.    
   
Hep-atitus