Transducer The spangled bird of night descends roughly upon her furrowed brow -- Well past her autumn, the dew has dried; home has come the wayward cow. The falling bronz'd leaves of the apocalyptic death, they dance Your veiled, unquenched desert death gaze flies askance. She steps quick to yon window -- O hold tight to the laurel wreath of youth, venerable sage! The nightingale of Keats now sings only dirges locked in so unholy a cage. The hunters and collectors of spiritual prey swoop down upon the jungle night; in the tropics are we slayed. The hazy mists surround her aging heart, filmy shrouds dim her love-starved eyes. Only Satan dares to clap; his minions leap and cavort across storming skies. Stripped nude, the grapevine of her budding loins anticipates the Rasta disguise of the kaleidoscopical Mephistopheles, who falsely pontificates. Her abandoned knitting falls to the floor, revealing the fetid carcass of her horned love man. A mighty darkness whistles. Death himself comes soon to your land. She consults her crack'd crystal ball of sinewy flame The Grim Reaper's scythe emerges forth to slash her lame. How dirty thou art -- DEMON ARISE! Contributed by: Robert Zimmer, Jr. <EdmundKng1@aol.com>

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