Canto V
The Subject held tight in vice
Poured droplets cold like winter ice
No mercy could he beseech
Nor restraints could his anguish breech
Circled amongst surgeons
What monster born,
What fate adorn
A Perfect Storm?
Its silver streaks were clashing
In preparation for slashing
Amidst sterilisation
Of the Holy Incantation
That passed from Hypocrites
To surgeons, glee;
To Marcus, the
Anxiety
But of this, the safest lore
I had told the boy before
 
The Matter is reasonably simple
Five masters of the highest degrees
Will remove the width of a thimble
 
And then your simple mentalities
Void your unusual disruption
Will be lucid, coherent and free
 
I am too of a disposition
That grips my humble soul confounded
Sorrowful of my just desertion
 
The situation had demanded
A more exacting authority
Than my psychiatry commanded
 
Ah, the orchestra of Surgery!
How arduously they work to tune
The strings of our frail psychology
 
And with every note in place, they’ll soon
Imbue with the force of a machine
Their Mechanic Solution: pristine!
 
But, as to be unsporting
Young Marcus yelped, retorting
Your honour, sir, thou revered
There must be a miscalculation
Must my cranium be severed?
 
There must be a kinder solution
To this murder, born of ill-reason!
If at all there is a problem
 
Should Beast lust after a faun
Though such, no ethical human can
Do we carelessly ‘cut out’ the faun?
 
Does this guilty lie of moral man
Help in the slightest to ‘cure’ the beast?
Authority must lower its hand!
 
The insanity indeed must cease
And by a faun’s last breath may be
Please, only you can release
 
My hoof from tragedy
Simply lift this stone.
Fraternity
 
In the bone
Or mind
Moan
 
I-
I-
I-
 
But, enough of his burdens
Our Mark was bless’d with surgeons
After a few meagre hours
Like clockwork, on which life wages
Ms Farebell ordered flowers
As surgeons sewed final stages
And despite my relief
I was to sieve
A spot of grief
And disbelief
“Margarette?”
And this vision sent from my deathbed
Anointed the tension in my core
And sweetened the sorrow I had led
To see the memory I adore
Transpire from timelessness to moment
Sought my heart tentatively for more
There in her mercy I would lament
While the anaesthesed Marcus below
Was in silence free of his torment
But as if to mock her hallowed glow
Her satin slipped a little slit
And his mark around her throat did show
My redness surmounted its summit
My blackness composed its ecstasy
Resisting a vile and heinous fit
“Sorry, my Faun, my lost fantasy”
Spoke the fury in infernal doubt
“To cure this Beast, you must be cut out!”
Bile like water flowed from my pupils
Surging madly like the river Styx
Gruesome the mask that I had crafted
No truer agony could transfix
Her grace liquefied!
To the shriek of the burning justice
That precise bolt of certitude cast
Out the criminal to trusting truth
Lye! A spectre of order at last,
Her form defiled!
And true to her Faunish form
She cantered from the brute Beast
His black eyes succeeded mine
His blue lips ever parted
His bloodied heart ever fierce
He looked upon Marcus with contempt
And I knew then that contempt was mine
Although the Beast could never resent
His Canine heart consumed mine… Feline