WRITTEN ON THIS BODY

WRITTEN ON THIS BODY

 

 

A silk of quivering birds (anemones of sound, gliding out from universal anima), drift in through Hathorian gateways; tiny, triumphant gods of numinous rhythm come fluttering upon vast tides of vibrating light.

I am crowned in crimson rivers of their golden flight, swallowing the radiance of stars in their turbulent love, yet, watchful as my feathered journey-men dress me in fanciful visions of some grim, imagined human suffering.

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