In morning twilight,

seen from my window through yours:


the sun going down.

The Wyg burns the separate strands above a wooden pyre.
The Wyg ushers in The Line.

Mixing new colours with a robotnik slave-hand,
The Wyg manipulates The Line as no other in existence has done before or since—
Except, Exalted Ditko,
He who studied with
Exalted Paul Rubens.

The Wyg pays credence to the commeroration of Mars,
Watching over its distant skies and hallowed sand dunes,
Which burn as only fires can;
But those of us with eyes where eyes ought to be
Can only see the embers that scatter across the land
As hallowed, red Mars-dust.

In communication with the Mars Moth-Man,
On the nights where Earth-glow streaks across exalted Azuul,
The Wyg scrapes Mars Moth-Man's moth wings for the powder of the scales
And uses the powder for hallowed rites of manifestation.
Only in the temples of Azuul can one conjure The Line, and many materials are required.

my thoughts scattered like chaff in the wind
dandelion seeds in a spring breeze
when you first spoke to me

"deep in thought, are you?" you ask, smiling
the cafe was suddenly so loud
your eyes so bright
life so vibrant

i smile back, nervously hesitate
(is this happening!?)
then "you caught me
lost in the urban sprawl of my mind
it's nice to meet you, i'm sean"

but before we could touch
you disappeared down a side street
lit by neon signs; red, pink, blue
and i realized you were just my fantasy

a desire, too good to be true

The gods let this baby be born
As a thing they could reclaim
One day with cruel delay
Boils from black plague desecrated her skin
Right before her second birthday
A lesson on how a life can be stolen
Shortly after it begins
Or how we're without hope to the whims
Of the bored gods before us

To save the last of his kin
The father implored the science
Of the village sage and physicians
He was turned down at every door
Their medicine was not meant
To save the poor nor destitute
  
Resolute in his faith
there were good gods who gave grace
Unto children without sin
He next beseeched healing power
from varied institutions of the miracle men
Preyed over by priests, rabbis, and sheikhs
He sacrificed and spent
every cent he had saved
And their churches took his tithes
But did not take her pain away

Grief striken, defeated, with no recourse
Liquid sedated in a pub,he feels remorse
" our child will join you soon,
my dearest departed wife"
a pubhand overhears him saying,
"you can still save your daughter's life!"

"listen as I entail
The hidden trail you must trek
before the antelucan hour strikes
Her magiks are only ripe
in the dead of the night
Nestled within that loury forest
Her cabin obscured from mortal sight
Resides an occultist of such cunning:
A bog witch named Blight"

The pubhand helped him to more mead for free
Unprompted he then proceeds to lead
The father through that place he now seeks
-claiming his shift had come to an end
As they drew closer to the cabin
Something happened most curious and queer
The pubhand turned into a black cat,
Scurried off into the brush- to dissappear

Influenced by fermented spirits in his blood
He pays heed to their whisper
-Her cabin door is ajar
And they beckon he enter

Now in Blight's place of power with his offspring.

"oh hapless father when you sing,
How the gods do smile
You worshipped the very ones
who wish to **** your only child
they're vile and malcontent
All they know are delinquent tendencies
They'll torture her spirit for sport,
When she dies you see
But by my incantation
That needn't come be"

"drain the blood of a bat
with deviant intent
Recant the name of your gods;
You now resent  
The blood will brew all the while
-in my elixir
When the little girl drinks:
it will fix her
It will turn her pale white
You will fear she has perished
She will stalk this earth
Forever parched with ravenous thirst
And a stark aversion to sunlight
NOW YOU MUST CHOOSE:
A dead child!
...or a creature of the night?"

The father did as directed
He did not second guess
Unaware of the sorceresses subtle gesticulations
-Were creating a hex
He's blind to machinations set in motion long ago
The wiccan pours her will into a binding circle
As the child drinks the concoction slow

His daughter's vitality returns
The plague is receding
Fangs sprang forth
as she bites into her father's neck
Blood trickles down in specks
The girl keeps feeding
And feeding

all gods once assembled to fight Blight
The powerful mad goddess would direct
her sadistic debauchery at their human subjects
-human praise appealed to the god's vanity-
Her godhood sealed by the Parthenon
in a prison comprised of flesh
Divinity bound;
betrayed by other gods
There were too many for her to resist
A former god trapped in mortal form
Blight's punishment was to simply exist

For 300 years Blight had waited for a night like this
An ancient curse she could wield
As revenge for imprisonment
Finally obtaining the last two ingredients:
A child that was pure
And a father's consent

A direct strike of lightning sets Blight's cabin ablaze  
still in her binding circle, she's indifferent
And unphased
From threats of fearful deities who see
She's about to set her nocturnal creations free
Undeterred by their show of force
she releases her two vamps
with a flick of her wrist and no remorse

Iightning strikes within an inch of Blight
She leers at the heavens
Much defiance and mirth
In the distance a village screams
As her fiends burn it down to the dirt

The Parthenon replies:
Bellowing cumulonimbus clouds
decries her decision
Such chaos;
now her scheming REALLY has their attention
The.Ones.Who.Watch. Above

See all.

Throughout panoptic thrones they peer
pained fury for this village culling:
Blight jeers
Sanctimonius thunderstorm brings fervent rain
Their vain,pious tears-
The skies can not contain

The gods cry.

"Oh, how i wonder what will worship gods then,
When humanity dies?"

Luminous surges of lightning bolts strike
Tries to smite this emboldened bog witch
...Yet, in spite of their wish,
she somehow stays unhurt...

Blight smirks.

~
Setting out in the leaf boat.
What can possibly remain?
Fruit of the wild rose?
Hypnotica?
These little fictions:
petal and stem
—maintenance drugs,
turning strangers into friends
and friends into customers.
The only unforgivable thing:
snow catches on her eyelashes
and bliss is unaware.
~

I'm all she would like to be,
this fuels her blazing envy.
I'm all she can never be,
prolonged hatred & enmity.

So the obscurus ignoreth me,
casting seeds of blatant partiality.
Mental turmoil, choking humanity,
jealousy jolting the remnants of sanity.

Beware of the truth in entirety,
"Peculiar beasts exist in reality."

I wander along the stores
which make the pitch dark less scary
although you never know who may pop up

and that would not be Prince Charming
who can break through his spell
with my love, so that instantly
the shop window is a marriage bed
with sky blue curtains

and we get an enema because
of the spurning the chewable tablets
to let go of the past
and to seal our future
only dressed in a crown

with the red plug in his ****
and the green one in mine
The girls from my work
escort us to the bed
which we mount under applause

Their hands lay us down
and rub us up
for the grand finale

Lost
in the thick green forest
stuck
and can't get through it
to get out
i don't know where i am
don't know what time it is
don't even know who i am
anymore
can't dial the right numbers
can't get through to anyone
finally when i did get through
the person on the other end
would be a family or friend
who sees me as an unknown  
stranger
i think this is a conspiracy
i might have been deleted from the regime
of the human society.

I can see myself

dancing on fast and light feet --


all without stumbling.