The Salem eleven

‘Round the table
Dressed in sable
Their chants are drawing nigh
To settle in
Affixed in sin
As the moon is tethered high
To shave the page
of the wicked mage
A curse within a quip
The eye of newt
In our solute
No more than just a snip
Fox entrails
with cleaver flails
Chopping up the flesh
A drip of rum
Through a monkey’s thumb
Oozing through the mesh
Shall not dilute
The owl’s hoot
Singing in the broth
De-shelled snails
And merman wails
And a flea from a bitten sloth
To dine on spine
And leathered root
The devil’s crude parlay
Be still— the chill
Of judgement, nil
We’re serving up filet!
The plates are set
The candles lit
The witches join their hands
From east to south
They wail by mouth
to fortify their clan
Hail to the wisdom
Of the Salem eleven
From the Tower of Babel
never reaching the heavens
We call to the welkin
To bless us this feast
To fetter our souls
To the mark of the beast
Hear us and clear us
Of mortal desires
Eternal impatience
Enchanting our fires
Invoking the tenor
Writ of this page
Incantations delivered
From the most valiant of sage