I let your mother spit venom that night

Cradled, muted, ominous light
I let your mother spit venom that night.
Cold brass on silver - to cast it out
Would sing spitfires and nervous trout.
Blindfolded, spun on naked shame
Unable to seek-out their home again,
feeble weed and deck-be-shaven
unimaginable fate, unimaginable venom.
Torture, gas, liquid hatred
was wound in patterned iron caves.
Beautiful defeat, their fleshless eyes are
bleeding from the outside-in.
Spit venom if you may and lead the way
To three-past seventy nine milkmaids,
To reach her croaking stable.
And call me Sister Charley,
For I have a moral job to do.