Supper

The moon engulfs everything like desire losing reason. There is a hunger tonight for blood and sinew. Flesh will be had. It will be caught, mistress. It will be caught. It is a promise.

We will gnaw until we break the bones dry. We will cut off the head and leave it for the wasps to feast on. We will squeeze the tiny heart and hear its last beat—the last note of a wayward song, made sublime by its final silence. We will allow a drop of blood to pay the earth for what once was. We will bury what is left deep among vanquished hopes. And then together walk the murderous chasm between then and now.

Shine on, sister moon, be with us. Taste this morsel. Let us offer you this token for your gift of forgetfulness. Let your opaque drug sooth. Then shine no more.

Find glee in the burnt feathers on your altar.

for Cawou, Oa and Lutzi. Of the Furies, kindly now, dearests, for even fowls have souls.

~ by amats on September 9, 2008.