A CRUCIFIED ODIN

The screech of Siren, dances the blackness

cascades the Flesh of the pungent silence

tearing back the Veil of impurity, crawls within

the wound of Odin, emptied eyed, boneless,

screams a chorus of pangs which shaped the formless,

canopied the Realm of the Gods;

His voice untangles the Void, places a set of Clay

near Yggdrasil, commanded the Clay not to suckle

from its roots nor bite at its branches

—the call of the Loon welcomes sin—

Odin hung Himself from Her Branches

only a blood sacrifice would suffice, casted into Hel

how she panted and moaned for nine days and nights

only to command the Wolf to devour the Moon,

and Flames to mystify the music of Siren.

The Nappy Tales