Here, below a dark and
vaulted sky, tortured star-shine cries
and trickles clotted blood
down, twisted, jet-stone pillars,
gleaming in the
dagger-dark.
Spiked and hanging, draped
on staves, pale corpses
are food for vixen-blooded
pit-hounds pacing,
and howling, among
ancient fallen wards.
And the dark-light, how it
glitters against furled fire, trailing,
in episodic bursts of
flame, shooting through shadows,
pegged against the sooty,
heated, gates of Hell.
