Herewith is my only reasonable response:
O hideous little bat, the size of snot,With polyhedral eye and shabby clothes,To populate the stinking cat you walkThe promontory of the dead man’s nose,Climb with the fine leg of a Duncan-PhyfeThe smoking mountains of my foodAnd in a comic moodIn mid-air take to bed a wife.
Riding and riding with your filth of hairOn gluey foot or wing, forever coy,Hot from the compost and green sweet decay,Sounding your buzzer like an urchin toy—You dot all whiteness with diminutive stool,In the tight belly of the deadBurrow with hungry headAnd inlay maggots like a jewel.
At your approach the great horse stomps and pawsBringing the hurricane of his heavy tail;Shod in disease you dare to kiss my handWhich sweeps against you like an angry flail;Still you return, return, trusting your wingTo draw you from the hunter’s reachThat learns to kill to teachDisorder to the tinier thing.
My peace is your disaster. For your deathChildren like spiders cup their pretty handsAnd wives resort to chemistry of war.In fens of sticky paper and quicksandsYou glue yourself to death. Where you are stuckYou struggle hideously and beg,You amputate your legImbedded in the amber muck.
But I, a man, must swat you with my hate,Slap you across the air and crush your flight,Must mangle with my shoe and smear your blood,Expose your little guts pasty and white,Knock your head sidewise like a drunkard’s hat,Pin your wings under like a crow’s,Tear off your flimsy clothesAnd beat you as one beats a rat.
Then like Gargantua I stride amongThe corpses strewn like raisins in the dust,The broken bodies of the narrow deadThat catch the throat with fingers of disgust.I sweep. One gyrates like a top and fallsAnd stunned, stone blind, and deafBuzzes its frightful FAnd dies between three cannibals.