The Severe Banquet
We are gathered — this rarified night,
— before radiant guests:
Bedlamites and strumpets,
Men of honour, of little means;
Common clergy, with burnt ends
and constrained smiles.
— thieves, surmised. All of us.
Here, the Fates are ill of reason,
And we have yet to wet our tongues
with the beatific blood;
An artist, seated amongst us.
Glumly, hangs his countenance
wherein, one can clearly see
He, swacked and harrowing,
“Pay no mind to muses,
pay handsomely the whores,
who, your love, not one refuses!
Asleep with open doors.
The sea is but a temptress
the fervent sky — its consort,
than a blue phantasmal headdress
that our solemn mistress wore.”
But mere provender is the holy flesh served—
Serrated teeth of the bread-knife rending!
The concubine sighs,
Clergymen, in raptures, sobbing;
They’ve all put down their forks.