The Lucifer Cantos 6/13
A polished apple, skin and core
pristine, Uroburos’s gift to whore,
green, gold or red forbidden fruit,
peeled to the crunch of chomp, sucked deep
to taste sensation, sin so sharp, so true,
turns worm in us as stomachs churn. A new
life starts and ends each summer’s day for me,
python and hustler yearning, Death, for thee.
Outside now, sandstone tenements of night
are shaped in drapes of Rembrandt's candlelight.
A distant toll resounds, a titan’s tone
born in a bell tower, sonorous in stone,
as echoes, round a temple’s vaulted dome,
of droning rote recited from a tome
to tell the trundle of our times from womb to tomb:
All doomed, it murmurs, all are doomed. doomed. doom.