Our by Phen Weston

My latest offering to the forest 🌳

Night Forest Cell of Radical Poets

Always, the air had placed foiled garments
at my feet. If your brain is broken,
may I suggest dissection?
Cut the pieces
and strip the flesh back to infinity,
place them upon the ground!

Remember that I am your beast.

The ground splinters and spits
in gross expectancy and low,
I am never, nor good.

I sit here, watching as familiars
mask my existence through their lives;
and no decedent of Odin
walks the empty walls of Valhalla.
Huginn, Muninn, blinded
to the false words and pompous prophets,
stray in my slumber.
Spittle runs down my beard,
noir shadows chase winter sun.

tomorrow was never here,
and as I lay
my fingers towards the sinister
I wonder,
what it would be to take a life–
to slash the gullet and place the gizzards
before her graceful silhouette
as contribution to those forgotten ancient goddesses.

She was familiar and…

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