Litanies to the Moon

Like an astern and norn Spearing our fate's Yarn The atavist looks to our Knees and falls on top The Soul is more of the glow Slipped by matter's Acid claw As the livid liquid conked Like a Queen ascending sin Laying icy train of Pretend recess Fallen to restape in Shining redress The Beautiful goddess With stars of venerated Heart to shroud in warmth With spells of clarish Created Dawn of faith's entirety Once Fallen fast In one mere suppressed Invented Woods of her cast Like An astern and norn Spearing our fate's yarn The Atavist looks to our Knees and falls on Top The Misformed Portraits Of beliefs and ruins Ominous and apart With a smell of spit still Washing the sun of them With a shower's teeth That gather very beauty While the seed of sin Is fine Like An Astern And Norn Spearing our fate's yarn The atavist looks to Our Knees and falls on top