He felt a tightness, heard a snap, then came
into a realm of fountains, whose bright flare
lighter than water, heavier than air,
made wisdom knowledge. And he learned the Name

that compels spirits, though it’s often best
to ask them nicely. Power is a drug
will turn a recluse scholar to a thug,
so know your limits. He knew he was blessed

with perfect wisdom and infinite sight
and need not stir, and all the while a rush
of knowledge flooded him, one perfect gush
of incantations, glamors, spells of light

infinite love, eternities of hope.
His daughter found him hanging from the rope.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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2 Responses to

  1. tamaranth says:

    I am in awe. That’s beautiful. And the last line is perfect.

  2. noirrosaleen says:

    Well there’s a *facepalm* if ever I saw one.

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