Four and Twenty Blackbirds

The poison-maker lowers draughts into bubbling blue,

inky black like the dead men’s coves in Styx’s sea,

his hair coils like Dionysos in locks braided with secrets

I have in my hands a string of bloody teeth.


Gums bleeding, I surrender to Python’s bite-

Raven rises from the bubbling concoction

foul-winged and downy-chested with rain

acid drips on the horizon.


I am lost in the Dreaming.


Apollon Poison-Maker

ate my heart.


We dance in ash and madmen

skin charred, I roast for the king.


8 thoughts on “Four and Twenty Blackbirds

  1. Pingback: Babble babble bitch bitch rebel rebel party party « The House of Vines

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