Bathed in burning kerosene,
lay out the flesh to feed the flies.
Ligament and fractures beneath extravasated skin.
Straw and stick, bound in flesh, the sacred masks of wicked hid.
The circles centre,
transfixed this holy axis of the wheel.
He, the haruspex, dividing prophecy.
Among the twisted nails that drip with d**h the innards forfeit sight.
The moon sits above the lost Moriahan peaks,
before the dawn runs the shadows west.
The wretched vile temptress flashing blade and breast.
The sacrifice lashed with sinew of the elder ones.
Cursing the sky from which their father has fallen.
The shadows swallow them whole.
And bring the nine Kings.
Portals and gateways unknown.
Manifest – eternal.
Perched as vultures to the trees.
The stench of sulphur.
Chant forbidden dialects, the writings of the Gods.
Scrawling symbols, candles lit.
The moon piercing the fog.
A black ma** to conjure forth the fallen ones.
Carnage forming the once written letters.