Mendes Biondo

She’s a Banshee Not an Artist

a dude told me about her
an artist living and working
in the basement of her own house
a dusty place full of art and books
stinky like a witches brew

she was wearing a long grey dress
a swollen belly under flat breasts
her skin was birch bark

you’ve gotta love
banshee mama
her white fingers
her grey hair
she knows about life
she told you
hell’s a cold place son
this is a town for zombies
a graveyard for artists

I fell down
in her witch basement
with two dogs barking
at my steps

I come from a far place
she said

hair flowing in the air
eyes glowing when you say to her
I know something about hell

the dude who brought you there
has no idea of what was happening

devils playing with his mind
he has seen pieces of embalmed tigers
rabbit’s paws
little voodoo demons
skulls
painkillers on the floor
pumas with their shining claws
roaring from a painting
in the meanwhile I danced with a succubus
a fairy coming from another dimension
her evil dogs were playing their violins
and the hurdy gurdy of the world turned around
for another gig

the heck’ bro
it was a real mess that place
I would not have had sex with that witch
for nothing at all
said the dude once the Sabbath was
ended