Curse of Lies
Up from the fluff that pretends itself tough,
Yet another hiccup puffs from a stuffed stomach,
Cuckold by syrup huffed from a scruff buttock,
With a flutter of luck broken by a locked handcuff.
Hands tied two in the torn hooked links,
Locked by the cast of a mediocre jinx.
A djinn grins wide in the lamp which it’s trapped,
As a rub rounds metal nigh the turban which it’s wrapped.
Smoke churns thick in the swirl of its stir’s sworn demise,
As a spy’s own eye cries before that which it lies.
A basilisk hiss pours from portions of the dish,
Pissing away the bliss of defense and hope of wish.
Breath be bothered by binds before a bent decline,
Of dying ‘long a spoiled spine whose blood shall cease to shine.
Copyright © Brendan J. Simons | Year Posted 2018