---

Move stones from the altar
I was born of folklore
gestation
within the combustion of stardust
in John the Baptist's dreams.

Courted by whispering darkness
as a stumbling fawn.
Snatch the cricket from the
palm of the drywall

Vestigial, stigmatic limbs
Sworn to you, I carry out your will

A mole enslaved
in a kingdom of dirt
and worm gods

The sky hisses
in retaliation
as Pangea-teeth
molds the void
launch into the raindance
silos give forth
their bastard litter
When destiny comes to fetch me,
I'll be waiting,
with the head of my father in hand.

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