Trapped in Limbo

I had sowed myself in darkness low,
hark the weary angels at my sorrow prose.
Their wicked wings in tandem flew
as I grew cages from my spine’s milieu.
Soft decanter of spells I let out in flames,
their wicked heat broke from my Thames,
that bleeding river, black, unbroken, I lay
under key and lock, from my own bones this
holding chalice, blood for drink, flesh for fire.
Oh my sacrificial lamb, so in lame bleakness
tried, your eyes dullened soft, your youth full
and fame.  How white your coat and black
your nails, savior of hidden zoos, unseen, their
purlieu an outline of a burning cross, set
ablaze by visitors’ cries for better days.


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