Myroblysiia

My internal collapse, dare to stand
Open the mouths, chasms of the forebear’s corpse
The taste of our mother’s flesh, the fading chorus
Embodied the motionless who pause to exhale

Hands severed and hung aligned
Scavenged fragments of the wretched dressed
The nigredo carved upon the forehead with fire
It is legion that hides within, therein, herein, within

Assembled, orb, less, black mires mourning
Watchers in the wake, carrion choir
Rivers traced upon the ravaged callouses
The crux, the cripple, I, futility, I, futility
Futility

A hammer held by gnarled fingers
The fist of cold stares, the unrelenting
A cry to mass, phantom phrasings
The rise and fall of faith

My other name spoke from within this ruin, and hallowed be
As I nailed the hands of the many limbed, o endless limbs
Aloft, their palms acknowledged, anointed, and drowning
Odour of sanctity, blessed putrescence

It beckoned the dead man and his burial places
As dyadic yet as I
Transfiguration of melded light
For it is divinity who hides within, therein, herein

There is only all
Wretched in all this glory
There is only I
Radiant in rot