In The Vices

Gay and audacious crime glints in his eyes
And his mad talk, raping the commonplace,
Gleefully runs a devil-praising race,
And none can ever follow where he flies.
He streaks himself with vices tenderly;
He cradles sin, and with a figleaf fan
Taps his green cat, watching a bored sun span
The wasted minutes to eternity.
Once I took up his trail along the dark,
Wishful to track him to the witches' flame,
To see he bubbling of the sneer and share.
The way led through a fragrant starlit park,
And soon upon a harlot's house I came -
Within I found him playing at solitaire.