B.M.O.T.P.A.

B.M.O.T.P.A.


My black mistress calls me
and answer I must
I feel fear, and disgust
and stomach-churning lust.
My black mistress beckons
with an aged sepulchre hand
And I vow to speak naught but truth
as open-mouthed I take the stand.
My mistress perjures herself with the blood of the saint,
She uses my hands to spread her poison-doctrine,
'Til even the minds of the mighty cringe and grow faint.
My black mistress calls me
and answer I must
I feel fear, and disgust
and stomach-churning lust.
My black mistress summons
and commanded is my will
My hands rests on the parchment
as her words through me spill.
I sit on the edge of the world and howl
She holds the aces whilst I play the tart,
At her command I go, laugh, die, or scowl,
My black mistress of the poetic arts.



November 4th 1999