The Divine Tragicomedy

Lay's Inferno

CANTO I

In the autumn of his mortal journey
Stood Kenneth Lay upon the balcony
and o'er Aspen looked he to pines
speckling beauteous peaks touched azure skies.
Judgment from white splendor sent
And dark times at the threshold brought
For Kenneth Lay was guilty found by peers
The questions left were spelled out years.
Kenneth Lay took in the air once more
Brace his thoughts and steel his will
To gaze upon the capsule in his grasp
No sting but deadly as the asp.
The gin was neat the tonic dry
The in-deck spa was hot as womb
The plasma screen blurted Jeopardy
And the pill was gone.
Oh, heart, frail and feeble!
Grasped in icy hand and crushed
This dreadful fist envelopes him
And Kenneth Lay is gone.

CANTO II

In death he finds journeys begun
While still his heart and cold his frame
The mouth of new dominions open
and beckon him to visit.
Kenneth Lay did then tarry long
In fear's grasp not even timorous steps
But so above and further still
The outrage churned anew
'How dare he flee our mortal scourge?'
The living gnashed teeth and cried in vain
Death had cheated satisfaction
And the crook had run away
Then a voice came from the dark
Lambent, hot and pained
'On, on, Kenneth Lay!'
'Into the mouth and deeper still!'
Against his will he did take a step
And then another more
Descend the winding throat of fire
Kenneth Lay would learn the truth

CANTO III

Nine circles to describe this realm
Each more fearsome than the last
Each ring a whole-made world
Each interleaved with more
Kenneth Lay stepped into the stinking pit
The first circle was a swamp
It seethed and burbled sulfurous
And discharged thick streams of rot
The birthing pools of legalese
The torrid womb of lawyering
These men with pallid faces
Were scarcely men at all
They wore flesh-made suit of double breasts
Their slack features oozed and dripped
And on their lips objection frozen
But always o'erruled
Cruel gavel hammer to sound the drum
A call to constant work
To spittle clean the shit shod heel
Of brokeback peasant men

CANTO IV

Kenneth Lay fled deeper
to Second Circle glacier still
where painted grass grows always white
in unbounded meadows softly groaning
T'was home to lechers of the Internet
Their pornography run dry
No flashing lights or moving GIFs
Just rolling fields long quit by multi-angle DVDs
An inch a century the grass did grow
And the paint upon it lingered wet
Watch them both forever on
Was the lecher's punishment
With a cry Kenneth Lay lost his step
And tumbled head to heel
He rolled down hills to rest in a pit
Where the worst did dwell
Fanatics bent on certain anime
Crowded 'round him neckbeards thick
They moaned for fansubs by Ultimate Otaku
And Kenneth Lay did flee

CANTO V

Third and Fourth Circle overlap
On the shores of a blasted isle
A shifting heath of congealed squalor
The meeting point 'tween blood and oil
Upon the half of blood was Kenneth Lay
And upon a great gruesome heap
Of dead and dying men at arms
Beneath the warlord's red-stained feet
'One gallon sir, for one of yours!'
Cried warlords through megaphones
And profane answers came from the other side
'No blood, sir, not today!'
There would be no deal brokered
No terms were found to appeal
The lords of war were stubborn
And the barons of oil the same
Between these white sheathed brigand bands
In a simmering stew of both
Rose boney picket signs of slogans
Writ large by mutual foes

CANTO VI

Kenneth Lay trudged on
Down towards the Fifth
Through sucking mud of blood
And stinking bog of purest oil
Here home was found for
Those whose bed was made
For lying and deceit
A plea of fifth to match the circle
Kenneth Lay felt a tug upon his hull
He seemed to want to stay
Why there's one for old Ollie North
And that plot is for DeLay
Those poor souls of the Fifth
Spoke at length to him
Their viperous tongues were straightened out
And they could only find the truth
'I did have sex with that girl!' cried one
'I was the second shooter!' came the reply
And Kenneth Lay felt compelled move on
or else shout out his crimes

CANTO VII

The Sixth Accursed Circle was varied and was vast
A continent of suffering devised to treat complaints
Ten million complainers find their woes
Magnified beyond all terrible imagining
Kenneth Lay trudged wearily
Across the bridge of second hand
Where smoke from massive flopping maws
Stifled the complaints of those subjected
For those with an affinity for prose
A serried ward of Packard Bells
With monitors gone topsy-turvy
Dvorak keys and filthy mouse
They clacked out their missives to the tower
Where everything was always wrong
Where heirlooms plunged from mover's hands
And mayonnaise evaded omission
Kenneth Lay suppressed a gag
At the stink of the shanty town
Where grumbling racists dwell in proximity
To a mockery of those they abhor
Savage negroes hunted in packs
And Mexicans slept in stacks
The women crashed their cars in piles
And Chinamen stretched out for miles

CANTO VIII

Oppressive clouds gave way to fresh air
Kenneth Lay filled up his lungs
O'er many miles had he walked
And his clothes now hung in rags.
The Seventh Circle was peaceful
And the sky above was clear
Green grass and rolling hills
Were split through with crystal streams
Kenneth Lay learned soon enough
The cruel purpose of this ruse
For on the Seventh dwelt those
Who had all and loved naught
Every comfort man could devise
Was at their beck and call
Yet sullenly they stared out across
The glorious sunlit pastures
No pleasure ever would they find
In cool streams or summer's breeze
And every kiss of flower's breath
Smelled to them like rancid meat

CANTO IX

Eight Circle unclenched and dragged him down
And Kenneth Lay did gag
For everywhere was stench and gas
And the moving bowel of hell
Through greenish fog shapes did move
In turgid step and silhouette
Closer came and Kenneth Lay felt fear
What are these terrible things?
One thousand horrid mummers pranced
With painted masks of wood
Each bore a likeness of the other
And each body seemed the same
Proud politicians rot in anonymity
Forgotten and a crowd apart
No living man sings of their deeds
And they're spared not even a curse
The Eighth is home to presidents
And so the same for senators
Despots, democrats and republicans
Will melt and fade as one

CANTO X

Home at last and so like earth
The Ninth and Final Realm
Kenneth Lay could scarcely gripe
At what fate had dealt to him
The avenues and streets of life
Were just as he recalled
And though the sky was slightly queer
He felt at home
But what is this he finds?
For all has come apart
And eternity has planned for him
What he left behind
Wretched hands have turned out
His pockets once so full
And dreams he held close to his breast
Have shrugged off his grip and flown
401,000 eggs to suck
And time to find a job
To toil in ignominy forevermore
A thankless task for him
No purgatory or heaven waits
No Virgil to guide him free
His only friend the calluses
and a big plate of dicks to eat

– Zack "Geist Editor" Parsons (@sexyfacts4u)