… …to know…who will eat the sins of the sin eater?…a feast for the senses & a pariah menagerie…silence befitting a communion & raucous praise of an orgasm… …to want…cremation…smoke of bones mingling with a gray morn…dawn wedded to the horizon…a gold band & raw minerals…fire to lick at sin stained skin…survival is ugly…a lifetime of evils…lovely & necessary… …want to…burn the house down…to ashes, silken dust…encased in a Celtic box, hand carved…blessings and curses etched into the wood…no ill of deeds, the hands upon her flesh & faculty in the afterlife…a flight & hike…Point Lobos, silver sea mist and fog…scattered…a decimated body in dance, ancient tongue in lilt… …to bear…seasonal symbiosis: winter incubation & spring rattle: germination…earth borne wildling…bidden by blood running a chin & seeds ground by teeth…ravenous, she seeks, she eats…of sins & fears, named & displaced, by mortals on ferals…her fury & resolve, resurrecting chaos & colors…only the sinful can see…only the Gods amongst men know…the cycle never falters…forms alter, transfigure…the soul, a pyrophyte, thrives in strength & reason… chaos …I remember, upon each & every pyre… …want…need…the sins upon which I feed…
E.A. O'Connell
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