Wednesday, February 15, 2012

evil revision: oilus and crustida

snivelling oilus, and lusty, busty crustida
planning evil plans, to overthrow achaean lords
they don't so much love, as use and abuse each other
unlike noble hector, a fool with a great big sword

even ulysses' cunning cannot anticipate
such a spiteful shafting, no cause to congratulate
if the greeks would have known, if this they had suspected
victory had seemed less, their enemies less respected

the giant horse the second, and who could have been fooled?
to play the trick right back, would dishonour even thieves
but oilus got there first, sent crustida to conceive
great agamemnon's death, she with lovely eyelids tooled

oilus and crustida, their dark arts perfect crafted
he her with black infection intimately painted
their vows of matrimony no more than tempting fate
her trade planned, and required for the king to check-mate

enter, diomedes, and fall to the promises
of this vicious dark vixen, to her sickly sweet sighs
whisperings of a devil's orgy with the on-highs
any man not of white cloth would rise to what she says

slinking into the private tents, of those bejewelled
leaning, with great cups, of which the gods had had their spill
agamemnon, menalaos, servants, slaves, all fueled
even the women's eyes on crustida feasted full

a few smooth words, cups clinked with fairly sinister grins
it may well be that a few gods came down to possess
recursively possess, the evening became no less
than a frenzied, relentless night of all fleshly sins

apollo's chariot dragged dawn into early morn
fading the heroes into a scene of tables torn
shreds of cloth, broken cups, and the aches of tender heads
such destructive debauchery, left no time for beds

is it any wonder, how easily the trojans
pushed the hungover greeks back, even fired their ships?
but that, the smallest part of the plan, had backfired
when patroclus' death brought out achilleus' rage
and that, the largest had gone awfully wrong as well
no achaean heroes contracted the slightest gift
of satan's loins, their pleasure and vice had had no price
but for crustida, whose blood pulsed darker and darker
at each encounter, inner horrors multiplying
large tumours of dark disgust, her favours disfigured
the more she pleased, the less she pleased, until the daybreak
when the last tired beast passed out, and left her grim body
bloated, lost with the other scraps of the night before
to be consumed by trojan fire, and then forgotten

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