The Wretch (a cold dark night on city streets, a man alone) —

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Ill-fated scrawl the Wretch lay low
with box in hand and torch to light
the pith of ground a-top Pill Knob
a swell whose vantage kings could fight
and pupils tight in gaze of musk
to wait and burn whit’s choice at dusk
rags in pile wrap flesh so cold
the moment drone what find to hold
small parcel clenched in grip ill clothed
while eyes in moments creep and stare
here then to twist the ache and bare
knows not the end and never care.

Grand morsel sought in gullet grab
held close within from all to hide
the course untrue with blade’s false stab
forgets what was swill spoils pride
beneath tatters wrap and shiver torn
in mask of fear from weakness warn
each moment’s tick the howls mime
all left undone what’s lost in time
stand still the screech-felt talon’s grip
cold fingers raised from box to lip
Pill Knob now quiet in constant stare
toad’s mucus trail and never care.

Forewarned to watch wicked wimples wimp
turned round about cinch gathered limp
lone motions take the bastard’s bones
in wretched acts of drum-beat moans
as dark descends mists billow bloat
cause startled stares do fill the night
for those who’d dare the Wretch to fight
with unquenched forces sent to hurt
the thoughts of ill to steal tomorrow
what fills the mind with pain and sorrow
indifferent the Wretch to those who dare
indifferent the Wretch he cannot care.Mix34btif