A Siren's Veil

A Siren’s Veil

As I crawl up the tree, I explore the surface,
Searching for a new nest, my eight eyes I must squint.
Despite their great number I am blind. The odd tint
Of light is all I see. Oh the colours I miss!

One would have you believe, with eight eyes I can see,
Can pierce and penetrate in your heart, mind and soul.
But my vision is crowded with darkness: a Mole
At the center crushes my dreams of clarity.

But it is not with the eyes that one truly sees.
All of my world know this. Hands palpate this bed of bark,
As proof, this tree is the first victim my hands mark.
‘Tis the sense of touch that frees lubricating seas.

I have found a place, high above the ground below.
With condensated fog, I clean each of my hands.
I proceed to clean the threads of silk from my glands.
Like all objects of pleasure, they come from down low.

The threads pour out, spilling, squirting everywhere.
White, viscid, glistening, in dampness they adhere,
To all trees, leaves, flowers, no innocent they spare.
So ‘tis in this context, that my cards I lay bare.

Then, I quicken my pace, between branches I dance.
With wind as my partner, I engage in a waltz.
The speed of a Viennese erases all my faults.
I am the main scene tonight, the prey now in trance.

I tire quickly, this back and fro movement,
Thrusting my abdomen as threads come spurting forth.
The new gown completed, my tree rests by a warth,
Infested with gentlemen aw’d by my garment.

My seduction has worked, enticed they approach.
I hide by the decaying corpse of a mushroom,
And mask my stench with a flower not yet in bloom.
Enraptur’d, on veils of illusions they encroach.

The trap is in motion, on my white sheets a stain.
He, the most valiant of them all, has succumbed.
With terror and despair, my surprise has Him stumped.
Alas! All struggles that ensue will be in vain.

And so in my splendor I appear before him.
Aghast, he stares at me in great horror. He knows.
The wind, my forever faithful accomplice, blows,
And rocks the poor fool to sleep. Then I start my hymn.

My first act is to crawl above him. Unwilling
He submits. With precision, yet great force, I press
Down on his frail frame. I bite, he squeals in distress.
The venom penetrates slowly, paralyzing.

He is asleep and I can now take all my time.
With great care, I wrap him in my gown. A package,
Clean and neat. ‘Tis when they suffocate that damage
Is done. From town can be heard the sounds of a chime.

The time has come! He is dead and breakfast is serv’d!
With a chant I shift my body from side to side,
Open my mouth and spew my liquids in my stride
And feast on this carcass, its warmth still preserv’d.

The night goes on and so my victims one by one,
All come to my bed and in the same way succumb
At the end of night I know not how many have come.
Replenish’d, I prepare the rising of the sun.

I undo my bed, pull up the sheets and swallow.
It has served its purpose well and must now go.
No longer viscous the last one got away, so
I shall make another at moonrise tomorrow.

The night has gone and nothing is left of my art
Alone I look at what might be the moon and think
Would it not be lovely if life could just sink
Into stability, with someone in my heart?