Bad Sheep

Hendrik Kerstens

Bad Sheep

Midnight’s merely blue,

but me, me, me, I’m

through

and through

sloe, cracked soot-

on-a-boot,

nicotine spat, licorice whip.

You can scratch, scratch, scratch

but I stay underskin true

to ebony, ink, crowberry, pitch;

hoist me up by my hooves

and shake till I’m shook, I’m still

chock full of coke, fuliginous

murk.

O there’s swart in my soul,

coal by the bag,

cinders and slag,

scoriac grit, so please

come, comb

through my fleece with hands pallid

as snow and watch

how they grow tarry, raven,

stygian, ashed—

or, if you wish, clean me with bleach

I won’t

flinch, just char

down to a core of caliginous

marrow,

pure carbon, atramentous,

utterly piceous,

shadowed, and starless,

each clumpity clump

and eclipse of my heart raptly

re-burnishing

a woolgather dark.

Hailey Leithauser


"Fuliginous murk"! That's fantastic. If you're going to take a look at the dark side (seeing as it's Halloween), then this is the way to do it - witty wordplay. Leithauser certainly brings out the joy in words. It's hard to be depressed when you are so intricately gothic and picturesque about your evil self. This seems like it might be a good way to crawl out of the hole, in fact. Maybe that's what writers do, keep themselves afloat on a raft of words.