Written 2/23/25
I wrote this after watching Phil Tippet's 'Mad God', an incredible movie for the probably 10th time or so. I doubt it is actually an ode but who cares..
Phlegm slithers down the sink its slow descent towards the stink Hands of mucus and hair reach out like Hell's hellions to ensnare the whimpering shade, pathetic adorned with bloodied fists, raised beating their faces in rhythms anthemic A mirror is their sole spectator A reflection is an unreliable narrator that sees a God that punishes fear, the pen that writes infinite narratives Pain, the transformative element is the absence of language Its primeval elegance
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