Witches Moon - Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Drizzle like a 1984 vampire
in the ground Sid Vicious creeks
do you loath the conscience?
do you feel the Grand Inquisitor?
her bright mind like an oven
dreams outside the white light
voices like scars of a pentagram
Turn the camera on
in the body still but close to horns
salvage the love of a daughter
graze over the stones of terrorists
everyone walks like Judas
on the hill they dance like razor blades
they rip the souls of idolaters
Broad gates under the witches moon
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