It is nine wing beats past ten bleeding moons.
The Einsteinium nite begins in vapors of nuclear glow
And the chaotic inn opens its blazing gates.
A coin for a body, a dark tune for somebody,
A conic idea pierces everybody… why the hell I have no body?!
They pour inside ton by ton, where no thought
Was able to fit or bear the invented apocalypse;
The alluring net catches them all and ties new bonds
Entrapped beneath darkened laces of emerald witches…
Potion! An eerie viscous mix of nit eggs, nife alloy,
Ions of Tulipa Callaina, essence of succubus,
Cyclops eye, hydra liver, ionic onions,
Werewolf fur and dysprosium oils –
Not for the feint hearted mortals!
A fine savor flows like ghosts
And reveals which primal pagan the unholy mass hosts.
Its veil enshrouding all in peace,
The ravishing icon from above casts a bless
And lays bare the name: Akasha The Goddess.
A tonic civic notion emerges burlesque and thin
The beasts infuse spirits with tick-tock nicotine.
But unto the ghastly ball noon has not brought all
Tin souls are left outside, to starve in despair,
No sin to touch them, then to vanish into thin air.
Oblivion raised this haunting wall.
Deep in the dungeons of nothingness’ blackish wombs,
Behind the ununseptium bars of venal innocent haze,
The quill is held in rusty chains by fiendish muses…
On raven’s chaste gypsy wings is flayed into submission
To perform the conviction
Of the fuscous nymphs decayed misty rapture.
A tormented convict of carved depraved fleshes
Resurrects from the eclipse within;
The flavor of cryptic miasma depicted enfolds,
Dawns are sliced, suns deboned of light,
The unearthly mesmerizes and crowns a gory apparition,
The rotten hand that was behind the sight –
The convict of infinite conviction!