Dead men speak from living maws,

as cordyceps, rampant, affixing jaws.

Gnashing flesh of self and kin,

rending veins for phantom sin.

Their funhouse mirror reflects no face,

no eyes to chart the charnel waste.

Yet, from the blind, keen cheers abound,

libations for the hungry ground.

As the last lichling tumbles in,

a eulogy from vast Cybele’s skin:

Wormrotted husks neither excel nor flee;

the apex of equitable unity.


5 thoughts on “Necroontologic

  1. I missed reading you, Kaiter; I checked religiously. The wait, however, seems to have been fruitful, since this composition is veritably refulgent, perhaps your best that I’ve read thus far. The last four verses are deliciously potent, and the sonorific quality of your poems reminds me much of Silverstrov.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I whole unreservedly love this composition in-itself. I would be very curious to understand your inspiration. There seems to be political undertones — the mass man and the demagogue, almost? Bleeding for “Phantom sin”, the evocation in horror of equity — very Nietzschean sounding. I understand if you don’t wish to satiate my curiosity given my history of hostility, but the aesthetic unity of this composition does you credit as writer. I’m heartened by your creative perseverance and evenhanded navigation of form. This composition at once takes up and elevates language, neither completely dissociating from the shared psyche of the average literate nor abdicating to its cliches.

    Liked by 2 people

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