Medusa Touch
Much like the chip paper that crawls the alleys,
Or the landfill refuse that rapes the valleys,
Her thoughts like rags and malicious hags
Cackle and crackle like old bin bags,
And snake through her head as poison pen letters,
Shaped into forked tongues licking my eyes.
Bounding, though, free from my chains and fetters,
Armed by the truth of my elders and betters,
My rush through cold and the young and old
Bristled and whistled with tales untold,
Yet trapped my bones in the sleaze of her coils,
Numbing my breath with her venom and lies.
Much akin to mad hatters at manic tea parties,
Or the pills by the handful like sedative Smarties,
Her brains oozed fudge and toxic sludge,
Simmered and shimmered whilst holding a grudge,
And boiled in their dreaming of vengeance anew,
Repugnantly slithered lusting for my crying.
Sleeping, though, free from her garbage and grue,
The black skies transformed to a bright cobalt blue,
My devil-may-care and my fading despair
Turned my heart into stone for her then and there,
For the touch of Medusa turns back on herself,
Frozen cold and alone, an eternity dying.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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