Masseuse

Fortune wags its tongue
 Along the walkways of the bathhouse
 They say the monk returned from Iceland
 Unearthly boon in stow
 He who possesses the Pin of Quib
 Is granted eternal beauty
 I am tired of men
 Of kneading the knots from their bulbous backs and necks
 And rinsing their filmy water
 From this mew of tiles
 When I heard tell of the Pin of Quib
 Straight away I knew I had to hold it at all costs
 A storm like a drum
 Encompasses the priory
 As I go on mouse-toes
 Into the blind man's chamber
 And leaning over his bed
 I push the blade between his ribs
 But then in a flash he's got my wrists
 And he's pinned me to the floor
 I wake up gagged and bound
 To a windless ochre forest
 The monk's wan face inches from my own
 His breathe smells like pears
 He asked me then
 "would you like to see the Pin?"
 Retching on his filth
 I nod "more than anything"
 From inside his coat
 He fishes a brooch
 A plain pea of stone
 No bigger than a thumbnail
 And I can hardly believe
 How very ordinary it seems
 Then it dawns on me
 It was all mere folly
 "Yes, now you see
 The Pin's a pebble only
 That which you so thirstily
 Coveted over my dead body
 Now it is yours to keep
 You are it's custodian
 But first I must have your eyes
 Then the circle will be whole"
 I once
 Could see
 But now
 I am blind
 And all sense
 Of the world is
 Lost
 Lost
 Lost
 I once
 Could see
 But now
 I am blind
 And all sense
 Of the world is
 Lost
 Lost
 Lost