This Song is False [Part 3]

III. Angels Once

Let me fetishize the prayer
that will let me weep for the soul
that will keep a blank slate
from becoming the signal.

the brightest eden sought for sin.
when I am burnt by God's fear,
the strangled other is my choking breath.
the snake devoured becomes an illusionist.
his images, hallucinogens.

black air is moved and suffered away.
it is crafted to sell the shades a catspaw
and the blank slate a river.
red is the revelation of the finger.
it turns out, that by screaming at goats
everything is made […]

and processional tears
can give birth to a virtue.

vanity will bite the bullies.
reasons will blow each other up
with God's damned catspaws.

Selah. Selah.

it turns out that by possessing knowledge everything is made mythological upon reflection. maggots come to our windows. singing praises for the corpses we provide them. they were angels once, but their intake of themselves was too great so their needs were grafted together, and their hands were nailed to their feet. now they eat spirits and weep. their annointings congeal. who will be cruel enough to remind them of their ancient station? their wings are fallen. their wrists are riddled with holes.

Selah.