“Give over thy habits unto the Lord God,
And thou shalt be saved.”
Mattaman arose, the bowels of the spider squirming on
—he shrieked, like a shriven girl, and mice
Off flew Beelzebub, unto his own slipper.
Such a clever little Satan, it tucked its
Fine intestines into the house of his warming toes.
Mattaman raised himself unto his knees,
His arms lifted above him,
A sword manifest within them,
And he shouted unto the spider-fiend:
“Thou wilt die this day, vermin!
For I shall cast thee out, sure as
Men have moved mountains with words!
Do not test me, for I was sent by God–
In a manner of speaking!”
There he nested, Mattaman and the spider.
Until breakfast became lunch. And lunch became
And after, dreaming of heinous bacon,
He twirled his scabbard down, tucked his
en-colden toes into the haunt of the mysterious
he slept. not a wink.