A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth.
Beyond Good and Evil II
It grieves me to say it
To think it
To hitch my wagon to a space in their field of vision
The watchers mutter their quiet curses
As they consider us with chain-linked brains
Porus, a sieve allowing the quality of mercy to strain, seep
Drip to the floor
Like the entire sun melted your frontal lobe
-But I am the way-
The curds, the one who curdles your blood
With each forbidden touch
And if tears could match the rhythm of the rain
Maybe I could give you the name of his next victim
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