---

I pitch my tent

Beyond the scope of morality

Gazed upon by the golden calves

Shepherded by the ground-dwellers

As mother jackals quarrel

Over Solomonic portions

The sigil engulfs in an indifferent fire

As stakes are driven to absolute rest

Kin manipulated

A loss of tongue

And inversion of spine

Stripped down

And strung up with wire

Thin enough for angels