Tag: supernatural
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STONEHENGE SECRETS
Half light half shadow Half snakes half ladders William Stukeley, mind you he was a mason He was amazed By the henges The ancients’ ways Kept him awake Days he spent on knees digging ditches Sweating between the cordons A serpent mound, Atlantean in origin A porous rock they poured concrete in to stopper a…
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Sightings
I’m still in shock When someone asks, “Are these Thylacine pictures doctored?” Confetti confetti Better yet set a conference We’ve found the Yeti This sub isn’t ready, stay subbed Another grifter, book deal at the ready The comment section steadily Turns against him Text Seti Tell them suck it All their CERN-learning Bunch of Vernon…
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Baphomet’s Belle
Belle of the Styx Look sick in triple six Her sandalwood aroma Her hands without arthritis Joseph of Armitithea a carpenter Knew how to handle wood. Bring wood and oil for pouring This poor soul to release From the abundance of her lust, her appetite no man could cease For this disease we the Just…
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Grail Rituals
Quad six shave a six, walking down pilgrimage Soot black flag to which my loyalties fixed From burning rivers I draw my waters Rites in a cave until someone caught us Ritually slaughtering members of dawn chorus We floored it, devil and lawmen in hot pursuit Give them the boot to lick, my loot glints…
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Revival Play
Rivers moling their way to Jules Vernes’ internal oceans Their frothed commotions roused by monsters like Komodos Bred with Kodos From outside our Cosmos The King wears purple to attend the Gala, his stall farther forward than others The King in Yellow will be performed, the King in Yellow is in attendance His visible attendants…
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Would wose Woodwose
the ‘hairy men’ of the past who ‘live beneath the megaliths and hide in the woods’ are really just the ‘hairy men of the past’ who live inside us, in the cavernous temples of our minds, in the genetic labyrinth that we contain and which contains us
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Tube STATIONS of the DAMNED
Oil-in-puddle cold fusion. Microwave alchemy. On-demand deities conjured in streaming seances. Speedrunning life. Premium tiers. Patreon for Gods dying from lack of attention.
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Boo
He is unbound now and dates and days bereft of meaning mound like dust, their puzzling associations lost like the siren’s songs. Arbitrary totems marking the ceaseless march of illusory matter hold little luster.
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Babylaunchpad Failure
Miracles which mandate murder. At a sniff of evolutionary advantage, inert iterations which crave life and its luster will preside over anarchic epochs.