[ to: the pantheon of the morgue ]

[Written on 19/3/2017]

to the  { pantheon of the morgue } , thou best bestow
offerings of an ilk no mortal should know :


unto Crescent Death , a palmful of amber shivers
– – to go fetchingly with the glimmer-blade that nips and dances and demon-prances
in the shelter of the keyhole-eye of Styx’s virgin coffer.
— { } —
[[ the fanged un-deity should soon tell you–
–in strains wicked and mechanical, Cheshire cogs a-rattling for a knell–
that she likes them better stained with b l o o d . 


unto Half Death , a sliver of the deadest blue
– – see the phobo{scope} bare in its fractal readings:
sorrow-limbed breaths, violet-dyed {{ ….violent-. died
all over its mid-mortal anatomica
— { } —
[[ such an offering should do to appease a youthscape
of starlets razed to plasmaNaught
by rending, retch-mongering ” v i r t u e “. ]]


unto Waning Death , a feather for an ink-doused thought
– – to accord a speck of beauty where ashes have long scribed
embered penance
into the left-over bones from monochrome expunged.
— { } —
[[ and o brazen one, it is better to
pretend that you see not, covet not–
the butterfly graves that simmer a wistful, weeping froth
amidst her smoldering toes.


and last of all , unto Waxing Death
an amethyst or two, to plant in city squares
of arachnid craft by the hands of stygian-garbed architects–
–and deeper still even, past neon shallows into atria wherein
brews the Primeval Dusk of the Morgue.
— { } —
[[ if thou should dare plunge to gift–
–tread carefully.
for no hollower a domain is there in this realm
than the heart of the Waxing Death. 



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