On devils, and telekinesis

The devil taunted me,

a clacking arthropod

whose shifting Janus mask,

Round and bone-white, circled

as it danced toe to toe;

and I,

I found in my sweaty Hands

heavy nails, long and strong,

which I flung at that mocking moon

with a sharp flick.

Take that, Devil! They whirled and sliced

through the air

Quick as Bullets.

One gained the mark, and two!

But still he danced

And cooed, And jeered.

with a final muster of breath,

My Hand lithely whipped

the last nail true,

and bedded it deep

above his eyes.

A hum, as it quivered.

A creak, as it cracked;

Gravity turned.

a single drop of blood

curled red across the forehead;

the face flickered to sorrow.

Why? he asked, Because you are the devil

I replied

The mass crushed to the floor,

scattering fractured scales and masks,

and under the cracks— something frail.

Suddenly Death’s fetid pall

cast itself not over he,

but me,

and in my nostrils slowly,

insidiously crept

a reeking miasma laced with—

(what is that? shame?)

and in its darkness I’m left to ponder

the worth in seeing devils.