Laszlo Aranyi (Frater Azmon)

Twilight of the Gods

Light sleepers without bodies; homunculus germs in sticky,
curd-like drivel
on a cutthroat flypaper.

The unity of male and female,
the degenerated, fading, distant, magical obsessions
of the primordial, blameless root cause become perceptible
The rebel leader writhes in chains.

Call to your ancestors, the flooded river answers,
your double that moved to your house,
is the lynx.

Meanwhile, a double-edged, demon-slaying sword inflicts
a wound upon you,
your self-reanimated shadow draws you deeper.
The dreadful North’s sending a dire army; it crushes
the masked, sleepless foe. Before he murders you though
he waits insidiously for you to kill him.