death's glove

I have written
too many history's
of men
that cringe and shudder
at the thought of my
typing madness
dance the skirts my way
you befuddled son of a bitch
dance my way
and dance so loud
to make the Devil's dance
cloven hoofed boogie
dance, dance, dance
and only the dawn's light will make you see
the waves in the sea
all salty
and sultry
and such
with crystaline
visages of what once was
and what could be
in the refrection
of a pupil's
reaction
I need no more ...