nəl

hypatiating at 

the altar 

of the 82nd

archon

we groaned 

and gargled 

the sweetness

that hithered 

the headless 

henchman

handmade

and hurtling 

up,

up,

up

on the back of the beast

spewing brine,

the one that wrenched our hearts

and wrung them

into a river of wine,

beatless and breathless 

we pierced

perfect 

nothingness;

past the grand expanse,

past the land 

where angels 

danced 

on pinheads,

and sang and fell

before the 

ground where being grew 

voiceless 

in the void

voidless