Calydonian Boar

Gone a whoring,

the man-pig

routs with his

snout in the dirt of

the crude temple floor,
blessings for his quest,

calls for the priestess

to attend him,

come accept his

drink offering,

grunting beast,

foul breath in 

unwashed crusts

of skin, names

himself beautiful,

boasts of his

suppurating wound,

fixed in its soul-less
primitive throes,

a lower function mind

appeals to any who

answer his discharges,

husky-filled calls

masked in distinctive
aromatic rubbings,

pleasing words,

read at leisure

in old parlors,

the poems of a

Calydonian Boar,

intent to destroy,

he's a ravager.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013