For today, just a sort of poetic exercise…
[“Holly” by Louis Smith, via]
I have eaten two humans – one was a man, the other a woman… They taste the same. ~ Eating with Cannibals
Down in the graveyard, the blackbird,
Piping on unhallowed ground,
Calling and waking the crippled ghosts,
The cross-marked ghosts made pagan
By the curses of pagan gods.
Looking up from Tartar, the gods
Almost scorch with their envy the blackbird.
Leaning down, fully-veiled, dusk is pagan –
When her bruised fingers touch the ground
The tombs stir and earth shakes off its ghosts.
No prayer is enough for the ghosts,
Chased even in death by their gods;
The fumes of their feet poison the ground,
Under the dark scrutiny of the blackbird.
Up the hill, down the crypts, all is pagan.
Blue flames burn over coins meant for Charon, pagan
Torches, lighted softly by ghosts,
As they follow strict signs from the blackbird;
Rites ordained in jest and in spite by the gods,
Who know no better than to chain lost souls to the ground.
Down in the graveyard, in accursed ground,
Where the angels and crosses are pagan,
Unburied windpipes sing the boredom of gods,
Who get fed by the ghosts
Through the beak of the blackbird.
Blackbird, the unhallowed ground
Sheds its ghosts for your lost pagan gods!