• Stone Angel in Twilight •
from The Decay of the Angel, 1987

Will I ever feel a lesser urge?
One which only feed the movement of an eye,
Not the greater stirring of a larger organ.
Is it my stigma to flaunt the sword
As I stand, as I sit;
And if I shake hands with you
Do you notice the cloying stench of moral leprosy
Clinging to my sweating fingers.

I thought you hated me
But I must have been mistaken
For you lay down your garments at my feet
Turn your naked flesh from my devil-worshipped sight.
Expose all the hollows of your body
To aid my degredation and disturbance.

When I touch your hand – your gaze accusing
When I grasp your shoulders – your dignity avenging
When I embrace your body – your curse ascending

You feed my hope,
Chain me to the slowest clock
Awaiting your return, the nearing footsteps.
At the eleventh hour I can wait no longer
And search you out.
"I just got back" you say. Every time.


"You know my feelings on the subject,
Don't make it difficult for me"