professional crafter of artisanal queer tatterpigs | I'm the monster wreathed in smoke and orange blossoms


thaliarchus
@thaliarchus

Wisdom ancient | wit-thanes consulted,
seeking certainty | from the Sun hidden
in book-hoards old, | in burned writings,
on tombs engraved, | or torrent smoke—
air-haunting swirl— | that herbs release
in fire hallowing. | Fearsome their answer:
ass lies roasted, | by insults struck,
beaten most badly | by baneful speech;
for wolf hungriest, | wise-feather raven,
and eagle keen, | ass is fodder.
So ever ails | every wonder
worldly and fleeting | under wide heaven
known to mortals. | And none returns.


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