Missiles in the Breath
Missiles of microscopic dimensions,
of iron, skin, blood, and sand,
half human and half beast,
half steel and half flesh,
like gargoyles jumping
off their mounts
in armored bodies with seven heads,
with razor sharp talons of steel,
dipped in the blood
of the oleander,
the perfume of the macabre,
the venom of the flying beast
with talons outstretched,
poised to fly through porous channels
down through dark corridors,
eyeing its way to the
heart and lungs,
ripping through the flesh
and spreading its venom
to targeted places of vulnerability,
launched from random platforms,
from demonic plantations,
sown by the slaves of the beast,
nurtured by the heat of the nadir sun
shining up from the pits of hell
and reaped by the hands of the devil.
Out into the dark night it flies,
out into the light made dark,
into the pure air made impure,
into the holy air made unholy,
the virginal air made contaminate,
the good made evil,
the flight of the missile,
half human, half steel
with its talons dipped in venom,
then the beating of the fists
against its proud brass aegis.
The victory of the evil germs,
of the missiles in the breath.
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