Monday, April 1, 2013

"Iago" Begins

I know saints are fools.
Whores are more my taste.
I am nothing if not criticall.
Here he comes now, the man
who married a woman
whose snowy skin milks
his love running quick.

I of course hate him,
Black ram with his white ewe.
I am not what I am.
I will follow where he goes.
I will spin him on my axis
until he falls on her
in a dark riot of seeded stars.

Let her go to another man
in the trap I set for her
so she may be my fool
and he the deadly whore
finding what I planted
inside night’s four walls
and he with a pillow smothers.

(1 April 2013: II)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander

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