deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Celtic Cross

The trinity knots on an​ insignia crossroad  
entangle the sapien prey of the earth spider    
sprawled out on the triple spiral,  
spun in a silk orb  
from which the world divides spoils of the living hull.  
   
Entering from one path, stepping into the sand dune of an unrecalled birth,  
to lose the left leg to an existential crisis on the border of pubescent recollection,  
the right arm that pumps the iron and recites the mantra of 401Ks  
torn from its smelly socket  
of festering must  
and dry stout beer  
   
as the chopped head is exiled to hop along the middle ridge of the Celtic cross  
and trips off the tip of the cycle  
into  
where a woman holds a silver apple branch.  
   
The alchemists believed a metal could only be the solute of such transmutation,  
forgetting the sorcery of a human  
locked off by the hands of natural law  
at her binding of the transmundane sophic beast.
Written by DecipherMe
Published
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