Sunday mocks the heathen.
Mourned at midnight--
how do the hours count?
by the moon or by the sun?

Secret signs and dumps
of new holy weapons
for aeons buried
Hay-soos', Zoos', and others' vaults...

Orpheus playing kachina calls
after terrible scenes in Uxmal.
What if Kulkulkan was a
cukoo-Christ-renegade-Thoth?

What if my beast tortured soul
is a strange science project gone wrong?
Or gone right!
I can't make any sense anymore.

Something inside me says, "All,"
and something else turns like a claw.
Faith in high heaven is bold.
But not yet, I don't want to go...

12/20/2009

Posted on 12/20/2009
Copyright © 2025 Ryan Nardi