Enterprise Diary

Up from the floorboards Creeps green heat. It seeps under my head Through a hole in the sheets. It blankets the windows And shadows the ceiling. It licks at the lampshades And spawned my skin peeling. Into the cupboards Comes a noise. It mangled the marshes With three lecherous ploys. It danced with the Devil, A bystanding Lasher. It curdled the saintly And dubbed the dead masters. Down from the spiderwebs Slide warm hands That pull at the fabric That had once been their bands. They fondle the willing To dawn a dim future, To center sensation, And parent new squalor. Out of the fire Sickness calls. It drips to facade me Thoughout winters and falls. In through the Underpass In a sick, silent prose Two magistrates and I With my eyes half way closed.