You slaughtered the blue and brought
Black over blue.
My prized possession of sorts-
No, I am not one to think the endOf a seemingly millennium of grief
Was to elicit great happiness.
O that monstrosity of a thing.
A monstrosity of an existence it isTo touch things into columned pink salt.
Each is the wife of Lot,
And I have twenty of her.
You slaughtered the blue and broughtBlack over blue.
Ungrateful brute!
I had ridden you a copper carriage
From east to west, across the earth,And ushered forth a cornucopia
Of cornflowers and navel oranges.
It was a matter of indulgences, of painful pleasures.
But you did your slaughters.