The Minotaur Ritual


Up from the sickly flowers of lead –

Whose blueish petals pale and drooped

Are soaked in black and matted blood –

The horns of consecration rise.


A liminal state of recompense

For ancient slights in sacrifice:

A creature born to neither form

Is left to wander through the dark.


Galena glints and burns within.

The furnace tipped towards the south,

And molten metal flows through time:

The monster slips between two states.


The flowers are gathered up and crushed.

Amongst the mines a new bull reigns.


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