Friday, September 30, 2016


Now, hum, chant, dust off the altar.
Calf's already gutted for slaughter.
All I need now is the priestess.

"Just hold me in honor, hold me in awe,
my fine and gaudy mistress.
I pray you, Make me your god."

But you released me, to wander
beyond the range of my hymns.
And left me here to conjure
you, incarnate, back from a dream.
So, carefully, I detail our temple
with incense to be purified.

But I'm running low on these candles  

while watching the calfling putrefy.

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