~~for Goya's Witches
Palms shuffle below whispers,
-he’s as light as a feather-
-he’s as light as a feather-
-he’s as light as a feather-
then slip underneath.
Potential derived in hearts enters hands,
threads through heads, then
magically zooms up witches’ hats—
a tricaptra that conjures lift.
A sacrificial rising
offers up a serial sinner.
The donkey hangs its head, and
men tremble under closed tight eyes
failing to believe what they see.
As the tricaptra gathers force,
it sucks more & more serial sinners
high into the moon’s blue nimbus,
to feed its constant glow.
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