Entering the Plea

I met a man in Africa;
He said to give you up.
That brew, I found, was fouler
Than in any witches' cup.

If one night the taste was bitter,
What of that? The rest are sweet;
And if loving you is poison
It's on hemlock that I'll sup.

 First I lost you in a forest,
 Then I lost myself as well.
 Stumbling through the oak and redwood
 Mazed by Duty's clever spell.

 If my fires sometimes burn me,
 What of that? Tears salve my wounds;
 And if loving you is arson,
 Then my heaven looks like hell.

Met the Secret Folk in hallways
Where the walls still smell of soap.
There I answered all they asked me,
And their questions gave me hope.

Catch and drag me to the court-room,
This is what the judge will hear:
Well if loving you is treason
Then my neck's fit for the rope.

 Snapped his spine deep in a sewer,
 Stabbed him as he lay in bed;
 Sliced his veins open with razors,
 Shot him in his lying head.

 Killed my way through fools and sages,
 Every one of them was me;
 And if loving you is murder,
 Then my hands are dripping red.
 
 July 10, 2004