eons have watched me
slink through umbra,
folding my timeline in
half:
collapsed between
before and
after.

ages past, i was an orb
shelved above–glinting
from grace thrown to the
heavens. hallowed lips
tasted my name
under bowed hoods, as
mortal figures flocked
to my parade.

what a spectacle it was–

rings of flesh spiraling
in song, closing in on the
blade. throats were
scythed clean through,
spraying blood as heads
rolled gently
into the alms basket.
‍‍
i tore those skulls open,
spooning souls into my
maw like bears do honey.
in a flare of grace, i then
dwelt over meadows–
shaking the seeds
awake and drawing stems
from dirt.

for each growing-season
did the mortals and
i trade gifts: their souls
nourished my famine, and
in turn i tickled the earth.
that is, until the Cross
appeared.

white-robed figures
plunged their ember staffs
into the mainland and
spooked my people
away with
shimmering
trinkets.

alms baskets reeked
of sour gold, no longer
perfumed by
offered blood.

ravenous, i had no choice.
so i made the souls
mine.

the night i
harbored in mortal
skin
fell under a
Samhain moon.

dew-cumbered sky
poured over the
boneyard, lifting my
eyelids
            buried
                       two meters below.

half-decayed limbs
thrashed
in a skyward rake,
hoisting my vile
corpse among the
headstones.

as i stood, i
felt the warmth of
a burial cloak–
blacker than soot
–clung to my mouldy
skin.
‍
a pair of sickly beams
bent from the surrounding
wood,
piercing the curling
fog. as i turned for
a glimpse

my head slid evenly off
its neck, and fell into
my hands. so i gripped it
by the hair and
thrust it into the air–
my beady eyes scouring
the thicket.

my glare
darted through the wet
sky, tracing the
glow back to a mare's
orbits. darker than
its shadow,
the horse wandered to
my feet
and bowed.

i cradled my head in
the crook
of my arm,
mounting the mare
as my greasy lips
uttered but one name:
Father Boland

at the snap of a hoof,
we dissolved into
the bleary treeline and
leapt through shades
like mad,
a tongue
stretching
from a black
fire.

a wicked blaze shot
from the mare's snout
as she barreled forth,
scorching the
underbrush 'fore we
burst through the
clearing.

hooves now clattering on
cobblestone roads, my
horrible smile stretched
across my face,
baring rotten teeth that
clamored for light.

we finally tarried at the
lantern adorning the
rectory, and i
dismounted
by the foyer.
as i crept to the main door

it unlocked in terror,
shuddering open as
my shadow eclipsed the
gaping triangle of
moonlight cast
on the floor.

i calmly slid into the
priest's quarters
and found the man
dozing on his side,
tranquil as a hare in
clover.

nesting my
head next to his
i gripped his throat
and started
digging.

his widened eyes met
my rancid grin
as my nails
tore through
head-bridging fibers,
screams leaking
from his splintered
neck.

when he fell quiet, i
yanked his head back and
drank his soul,
a feast less grand
than those offered
willingly.

'fore i departed i
pinched the vertebra
jutting from his shoulders
and pried it out, coaxing
his spine into my hands,
fashioning it
into a whip.
it skidded on the
stone floor behind
me as i left
the chambers.

but leery
in the passageway stood
a hooded monk.
bewildered,
he scowled at me–
opening his mouth to
speak. i jerked my

wrist, snapping the
whip at the man's
eyes. but they didn't

fall out. gold coins stood
where pupils should have,
that ugly metal stinging
the spine and boiling
my skin

dead. aghast, i fled
through the corridor and
out the gate–
mounting the
patient mare
and waning
               skittishly
                           into the
                                      night.
‍