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A rotting, putrid land,
Frail as venous clay
I sever my thin mass
From Earth's devoted prey.

Hircus-tongue, seize the fire,
Beneath a graying twilight,
To deport this rank humankind,
Into a wintry, aphotic sky.

In chronic irreverence,
This sworn, malignant rite
Churned the lord's sanctum
Into a lidless night.

A spherical glow
Begot the decadent purge
Of a captive fall of lambs;
The shriek of Heaven's
Celestial dirge.

Devour the flesh of God,
Afloat the crimson sod.

The Ritual brought no repose.
For naught but smoke and mist arose;
Though consumed by dreams I saw -
Horned and hooved - the wicked He-Goat:

His loom roared sinful in effigy;
I sank, wailed, as glottal
Words were shorn
From his tongue - I, dismal, fell
With rapt fear, as though snarled by
A soulless, callous, abysmal wind.

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