The Candidate
My virtue is consistency
(Like sandwich spread or lard);
I fire on two pistons, see –
And I am well, well hard.
O full of scorpions is my mind!
I’m neither left nor right;
I was not born to humankind
And sired deep in night.
I do not like all foreigners,
But spray them, half-effusive;
I also loathe all sporraners,
Unless they seem conducive.
My words are never weaselly,
So judge them on their merits
(In fact, as I say breezily,
They’re really polecat ferrets).
Be innocent, my dearest chuck,
Of all my quiet guile:
I really cannot give a fuck.
It’s frankly not my style.
Saw you the three weird sisters? –
With devils I have supped:
My tongue is thick with blisters;
I’m totally corrupt.
So fair and foul a day it is
Now I’ve said I will run –
Now is no time for gaieties,
No time for laughter, fun,
For I will grind my enemies
Into a tasteless chowder,
And offer all my venom. Please
To eat this vicious powder,
For I have murdered sleep, and I
Have clutched the dagger’s blade,
And all of this upon the sly.
I beg you, be afraid.
