I Am (R1)

A cripple with a red cane,
Craning his neck for a snatch
Of dissipation;

A Molester of plums,
Crutch-kicker, and butcher
Of hobbling ladies.

I rob babies, jab
The ends of lollipops
Into their eyes.

Always with a sharp tooth for disaster,
I have supped on human blood,
Enjoyed the screams

Of fatal penetrations. I have pushed myself
On something hard, all dagger like,
And groaned. Pleasure

Is my only consort; I raise hell
To pay him. I cultivate abscesses
On my nose, and pick, and sing

The siren song of death.