Sibilant and macabre. Walpurgis sauntered in. Skies litten with five-pointed stars. The work of crafts surpassing sin. As She graced Her window ledge.
I bled on a pivotal stretch. Like a clockwork Christ. Bears sore stigmata, bored. . And as I threw Job, I drove. Myself to a martyred wretch. To see if I drew pity.