A Diet of Worms

We slip and slide, wait and pray the rain will stop.

Wait for sunshine, look for rainbows,

expect the blue and embrace the grey.

The pea princess sleeps still,

the frog prince is a painted toad.

We laugh and leer, live as if the tears can’t fall.

Live in darkness, die in silence,

ignore the light and deny the night.

And on lily pads the frogs sing descants

while the malady lingers on

the murky pond by the tangle-wood.

Jane, Jane, played a dangerous game,

followed a man through the briared lane,

gave a kiss and lost her way,

came not back for a year and a day.

Came home with John, who had not gone,

named in fun as the Didko’s son.

We slip, we slide, tell tales,

stories, grim and faery.

The lore of folk on the edge of the wood

outside the town, beyond the pale.

Let them in, let them sin!

Let them doubt, let them out!

We love and lose, lie as if one were all;

lie to virgins, cry for stillborn,

suckle the quick and leave others on the hillside.

In the shadow of the castle,

near the poison-watered moat,

watch the Gräfin

expose her cunny,

piss from the battlements

to watch shit float.

We slip, we slide

lose our grip on sanity

and blame not ergot,

but consanguinity.