the Siren

under wave, under stone,
in gutted caves midst cracking bone,
the Siren makes her home:
a grisly shrine, a crowning wreath
of bloody brine and crunching teeth,
pefuming rot, so sickly sweet -
the scent of lillies underneath.
her jagged fangs and sea-slick hair
are unadmired, solitaire -
adored alone by sordid stares,
the doe-eyed skulls that keep her lair.
the echoes of her shrieking song
are bleak and sour, woebegone.
her gruesome tune wane-waxes on,
and croons to sleep a captive throng.