QUASIMODO
Quasi modo geniti infantes,*
“Why was I not made of stone like thee,”
Up-far-up, he hugs the cold cathedral gargoyle.
Are there tears when they beat his humpback?
Do we care? Do we?
Sophistical** sophistication of the mob
both skint and silk-stocking.
Ill will surrounds the beauty and the beast, both misunderstood.
Mood of shadows, felicitous and suffering bells,
Orgasmic Frollo circling Esmeralda, blaming her for his
Depravity. “Sanctuary, Sanctuary,” the cry of the bell tower’s madman,
Oh but much saner than the world that the Lord looks upon.
7/18/2019
*Like a newborn
**Plausible but based upon deception
Categories:
infantes, imagery,
Form: Acrostic