Crane'd pillar prostrates its nacre upon necrolith; eager ecstasy flung alabaster vitality to the foot of the famished tomb.
Woman of many phosphenes; eyes not unlike altar-stelles.
Mouths like myriad alembics; multitude of mirrors to mask master's countenance.
BERITH COME FORTH!
Wight hands clammily carest occipitals, and Venus is shattered.
Show them, O Grande Marquis, where the heir hath erred in the airt!
Tell them, Leopold, of the archer's acumen!
It is he who sayeth, lunting gayly the gold and merrily the myrh of the manger,
-Patiently, darling, in the reverential presence of the torrent of revenants!
-Quietly, my dear, in this time of no angels!
Sojourn the cloister's naos unct in hyssop.
All paths have lead here.
Nor sanctified verbum,
May kiss even the foot of my master,
Nor the ring of his papacy.
- Billowing Vervain
- He Wreaths the Cross
- Say Nothing
- The Keeping
- Her Bidding
- Cup of Hemlock