a blood sacrifice oration to the cosmic queen
goes awry in its sincere mission of purification
and the hands that made it with such ardour
now, in shame and in regret,
dig the earth desperately for nutrients, but there is only clay there,
and this sincere mission of purification
stumbles, falls instead
in tremoring spinal paralysis
downward the slope of filthy and irrevocable depravation.
a heinous tempest of final wrath
unlocks the dirtiest secret from its vault
and the funeral procession of the world becomes interferred
by the formless djinn of entropy
drawn out, an energy as if a venom
from the most dangerous and distant star systems.
nine primordial strongholds to the north;
and twelve tribes of aryans to the south;
all but one eclipse under the oldest of all old fire crescents
and a holy vexation of spiritual disease
salutes with typhonian macht
the final and very apocalypse,
which leaves only the tribe of
The End Commune.
the empire of anti-matter
out there in space
with its bacteria inhabitants
grows into the quanta of the universe
and a queen is crowned
in a laurel-wreath of galactic ergot;
luminous she sits
atop the firmament
spewing holies upon holies
as if a whore of cosmos
spitting out panspermia
with bitter regret and resentment;
bitter hag of the star-sky,
God of infected cosmos,
reluctant to participate in anything
but the ever entropy of worlds.
the cosmic queen retracts her psalmata!
but they were fraudulent even to begin with,
but that is the part of the story she never told anyone about.
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