Montrose Abbey Scotland

I, Grimoire

Closet red, in pieces dead
with flies across the road.
Detailed instead a smile becomes
what we will least afford.
This road still kill, this piece of ill
Demands a fuller peck
avoid flat dead, glance cant instead
a carcase carrion showed.
Feathers fly, in mock reply
to beauty and the game
A shooters gun in wrongful fun
as we are all the same
we kill our fill we war our whore
we license now this substance
we live it late, deliberate
our foul chicken liver giver
as time completes our weakest feats
we piss ourselves in wonder
complain you must, tell us what’s just
a little more deliver
a fulsome pride rots all inside
and spews out many poison
a tongue of green, a sight obscene
a spoon to shove it in her
fix now a riot, subject our diet
to buxom lovely lushness
decrepit still win, open a tin
with wormy maggots, buy it
undo the cover, let loose the bother
in human vellum pages
fling self away, go come ,no stay
become a rock of ages.
The spells herein do now begin
a conjuring of symptoms
waving our phones we now intone
the wisdom of the sages.

Ken Simm