Cobwebbed Bakelite, his hands are skeletal
receiver heavy, weighted with the lead of words
he never should have said. A vow, for this?
The telephone is black and tick-tack of the rotary
encodes the pulses for the number of the beast.
For gains in life comes this eternal pain,
for sins, for words, for alchemy and gold.
For Marguerite, his hands inside her dress.
But now it’s late (it’s never been enough),
“It is not fair”, he screams into the microphone
“Answer Lucifer, your fuck, it’s Doctor Faust,
there is an error here: I’m taking you to court”
But suddenly — familiar fumes, a sense of burn
and brimstone vapor condensates on Bakelite
The laughter of the beast, as noxious as the smoke
the doctors chest is ripped apart: behold his scream
“I am both jury and the judge — your soul is mine”
They found the doctor dead, an Iphone in his hand
and on the screen a pentagram engraved.
Shay (Fireblossom) wants us to use a rotary phone where it definitely couldn’t belong at toads
October 15, 2015