BY DR. AGONSON
Around my shoulders, slithering, curling,
in their lustful desires unfurling,
my companions in hermitage unveil
my dreaded face to one who would impale
this frame robbed of grace, this cursed woman’s husk.
So dies he in this cave’s eternal dusk.
Falling to deadly charms he turns to stone;
his terrified expression is well known.
The moss covered pillars of my damp lair
all possess faces like this young king’s heir.
Ageless, youth’s beauty made immutable,
a treasure eternally scrutable.
I touch the flesh turned to rock by my look,
and taste the lips of the one who partook
a foolish quest to end my villainy.
Such is my sole lonesome intimacy.
The veil of snakes descends over my face
baring witness of my damning disgrace.
Cruelty, echoing from crime to crimes,
is a choral sung in long unbroken chimes.
Listen to my beautiful voice: