Last night shy half past five
Letter consigned me fiend-signed
As the deliverer handed it over, the wind sighed
Like a criminal emerging from hiding
The door jambs juddering behind
As if warning me back inside
The ward I wore at breast became heavy as lead
Heavy as my legs yet something led me to tarry on the step
And carry on a conversation with the author of the letter
That auror of legend, whorewife Babalon the great
Rides a white horse, pale mare beheld holding a melting sun sigil
That letter now mine
Delivered, signed for
To spite the divine path.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment