KC "Lokahjarta" Wyatt
God of Masks & Many-Formed
O god of masks
and many-formed,
I would know you anywhere.
Salivating, starving, I follow your scent And the feathers that fall from your foreshadowing wings Dripping like dew drops from that comet-stained coat By which to find your flitting facades.
O god of masks
and many-formed,
I am lost without you.
Lost in the verses, Lost in the meters, Lost in the streets with a 13th beer Wandering wild, Wandering sick, Inner voice screaming, "Heal Thyself, Witch."
Sick with the sorrow
Sick with the tears
Come down from the mount, God, I know you can hear.
O god of masks
and many-formed,
Fuck you Come home.
A Southwestern cowboy poet Loke
an moonlighting as a high femme goth. Genderqueer and weird - here's our next performer: KC Wyatt.
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