The Shadow Knows Too

Sparring with demons, and dragons and deadheads It bobs and weaves like a drunken sailor. Omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient I'm quite attached to it - joined at the psyche. Image of an incubus twirling as I do. Patron Saint of agony, I curse it And relegate it to a 2nd-class personage. Out, damn spot, out - and take the blood with you. When I am naked, it is clad (no projection), No libido, no tumescence, no consummation. How's that for a declension? When it ascends, I float in the ether. This hermaphrodite queen is superior To all mono-sexual beings And since I am bound and bounded It supplies the rope, the pins and the Worchestshire Sauce Third person singular with plural overtones. No objection for this object of my affectation. Alas, the narcissus cannot not spin like lilies, But only vegetate with the legumes. The coda, finale, epilog await Looming like a sarcophagus awaiting its occupant And alcohol cannot still the tooth That nibbles at its soul.