It is full of fire and brimstone –
its autochthons and peons
are genetic copies of Beelzebub,
Mephistopheles, Apollyon:
atrocious, villainous, fiendish,
abominable, depraved.
They eat crying shame
and drink dirty deal.
They love rarity and high living –
their secret selves are fighting
a blaze in the recesses
of their hearts.
They exchange smiles
as they pass in the hallway:
their lips are so crisp
and their eyes,
pleased as punch, their scruples
ice-covered in the glitter
of their real distance downward.
The sacrileges
of their wounded
are behind themselves
waiting to unwrap their lips and
muffle their laughs in their sleeves.
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