Cez (the anticorruption drive)

Bear me home – and not for long it says –
By dome of this moronic church the ways
Your anger swings are both the path we take,
And punishment. It is a curse to see this clearly,
It is in fact the loss at stake that barely holds it
Close, pulls the edge together; like the puzzle
We suppose could come apart at seams, make
It seem like we deserve the hints of pressure
Struck our way. Dead for taste is dead for rest
In this sad state, this slim condition. Which
Is why we learn to fake or stage the break,
Give-up the load, abandon senses to the
Need, the mouth we’re breathing in.
Who we kill are who we’re living for,
And somewhere in this paradox,
Exhaustion’s just another form of
Break norm in all preventing,
All disparaging event, non-
Typical prevention of a
Most demanding drive
Pretending accidents
Are hazards – cez a
Rare disaster and
Us here, merely
Dead in passing.

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Uomo-Lupo (divinità infera)

Again I promise my healthy self:
You will not do this when the weather changes,
The shape of things becomes a mist you take,
As all, too seriously. Again I feel myself escape.
Once a werewolf, always a werewolf I say: for
How could I possibly turn back on a life of
Blood, shedding fur and all, and expect mere
Brotherhood in return, a collection of vile and
Inviolate thought, love in spite of transformation
Into something more than taking off a skin to
Otherkin, stirring earth intending to proclaim
Me of its own? To refuse a gift takes more than
Saying no to it. Accepting of the thanks I get –
More often than regretting it – is shoulder
I look over just to see the beast in chase,
These ills in motion. Gone to so much
I see: the body to deliver me:
Dismembered and, intact.

Mithradates (men in dread clothing)

I deserve, I discover. I am complimented by no other
than the stranger I become, sleeping prophet in the
making of the thousands I ignore, trends I let now
pass me so tomorrow I may claim, through the poverty
I wear, their indignation – met upon the spirit of let give,
make die; cause things to step aside for all you preach
(in argive speech) and bring us change, enact unholy
celebration. Rites in bathes and bearers of a blood
I feel transformed, ancient form of transmutation
that for all my immune skin springs back – marked
from the storm I signal, mercurial with my symbols
and obsessed with the recovery. Red over the body
of the bandage I resent, broken self it represents
yet holds to for the image – of posterity.

Hagal, Nadal, Endgameing

As does need two hands to hold, eight mouths to feed
to tease beginnings – like strife in demonstrate of Death,
this thin, earthen layer in progression of slow that is beast
to behold, a ground where to breed is to blow, feels better
to stick to Hello, Keep going, Come to your senses now; know:
bearings in tricks of event, ex-passive as sentient abates, the
sentiment warns of non-state, this still waiting. Like Hell in
a series of build, Kapodistrict yngvil, kai ko agathos presbyt-
or adult- /erous wreck: it’s joke, it’s not sensible.
in my hands – it wants leash –
it craves punishment.
I blame Ares – hippie parents –
poorly spread-out social skill and then
– all through highschool – the will to power.
Hagalaz in loose, improvised misuse of fortune in stride,
A stupidest pride – our redemption. Ice wide and black faced
and all hiding – cast to the side as explosing of a begging king in
ask, restless side withholding for the bark and barely heard,
oddly tied enticing or, discourage from the split across the ails
or worse: this failure. Morality in turns and still: [too] faint to
bear the principle. As sacred = saddening; Love it just keeps
bothering and you – through all let dead and lose – led, carved
and used like dash on reckless slate – H-rune in crisis and stating:
“Don’t fix what we should break before it breaks us.”

Vrykolac

or, Satan Exulting Over Adam

the age it brags – it drags ascended as the low may go,
a mid may venture down ecstatic path, ascetic entered
into vicious route, contempted absolute – best as may
be tempted by a man within his right – his study for a
Christ denounced as orthodoxish pride, correct to the
illusion of a point he makes in spite, spit and speaking
loudly. so emerging from the depth – wet and carrying
the head of man who did baptise us, and yet: does still
surprise us by: this way he moves in. failing discourse
or, insemination – of a flim in false ideal, frail in forced
appeal to say – you’re better as a rookie may our Lord
ship show you mercy. it is confidence you say is earned;
soft of lip where you have turned from matter, all this
sullen waste. breath through which replacing me has
been (at best) severe, sincerely disheartening. growth
it does you well but feeling small is not of size; it tears
from something inside. you’re clothed in shoe of straw,
eschewed and raw from absence; yet nothing speaks
of turbulence as well as you supine.

St. Christopher ere the Cannoning

Here between the loud and lean, the bark and breaking –
Histophoric made engaging with a culture it cuts from,
Bleeds into – ritual praxis as turned to with a fervour
For the plead, the bleak position. Any number of ways
In which holding is also a step tow’r’d what hurts yet
I, in all pain, keep carrying. These are burdens from
Which harrowing yet deeply satisfactory impulse
Occurs – I look now to see how, in all forms, you
Deserve to be punished.
Holy compliance determines that provenance be of
A purpose in giving out Justice to Men – and something
In Christopher knows what it means to say when, to stop
Preaching. The word he means, it draws an accusation.
It is in simple acts of seeing that the key to disbelieving
Bridges far – mends all over – turns again to bones and
Under to bring forth an anxious cure, the straddle ailment;
Medication causing lumber sleeves and making me turn
Absolute to relative, generic to specifically attuned to
Heave & howl, the mere replacement. In seven steps
This operation is most crucial as it starts – and here
We are – transforming.

The N-Group Burial

This is like: my son’s body and I say it because a part of it begins with
Me too. In original seam, invisible thread of parting – fold from where
All started is the flood they warned would come, begins arriving;
Prophecy of harm inside me that feels different of its form, aware
That its condition travels (mostly) through this air: a void between us.
There is a code that must be followed in the efforts of creation;
I, alike all askew gods, prefer to stray from the norm.
As good in honest smile lies close, the weight of distance carries over;
These are features no other could father this well, bear in sporadic
Showing of its better as bane – at times tame – others barely.
Infant unprepared to face a burial in arms, deliver from this corner
An allotment of its burden – poor description of our placement –
Small account of how he’s suffered at the hands of all I’m saying.
So now they come to the graveyard and pray, ask for forgiveness or,
Punishment in wounded shapes – some bitter aspect of wrong in
Gape in respect to what has happened. I tell them: and the silence
Can’t offend them. This is the space to pretend I have answered
All their prayers.