Jan 16 2018

At glance, askance, too brightly might you shine

for eyes affixed to seer’s shadows cast;

when sun, to moon, to earth, perchance, align;

that cry for moments dead before they’ve passed.

Amaterasu, Freya, or Khebat?

Divine, I would, by cards, or runes, or tea

a seat in Heaven, (standing in Duat,)

for you, a might you might not want to be.

My breath is inappropriate; my lips

are pursed around the gnashing of my teeth.

Perhaps, a poet shouldn’t dance for tips.

Perhaps, your God’s above and mine’s beneath.

The virtue of my angles is “to cut”

where reticence and augury abut.

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