• He attacks you with
    self-manufactured charm
    greasy wit, and sensibilities
    beyond city and farm

    At his wheeled cart
    and horse you stand bare
    A well-worn, ill-mannered shed
    filled with things born from wild affair

    A tapestry of jars
    and concoctions alight
    with yellowed paper lanterns
    and starry moonlight
    each one threatening to drag you inside
    and gift you quick the nightmare it hides

    but when you walk home, funnily,
    with your new eye of newt
    you feel oddly comforted
    the world’s somehow turned mute.

    gone are the days of the nameless fear
    and all other things he bargained to cure
    now you can sleep with reckless abandon
    and smile like he did, all toothy and sure

    and here, my good luck rests on a table…

    sick mellow evil, all willing and able…

    until that turbid dead eye casts its weary glance…

    misfortune itself leaves my life up to chance…