Possessed

They talk too loud,

swear too loud -

and look too black;

they never go anywhere.



Escorting me day and night

with their rumble of death.

They are everywhere.



All hell is breaking out

into legions of smiles and a shout.

The devil licks his chops,

preparing a feast on my life.



The spirits of low-life

get out their little bibs.

Wonders, pain - and terror again.

Sorrow to the bone.

15 lines