Lord have mercy on my son for he is a lunatic, and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire and ofttimes into the water.
The devil is a man, not unlike
a father who has his faults.
He can’t help but take hold
beneath the blue flame of vein and skin.
He will not be moved, divided from the body
he has made his own image.
Once in fire to forge a dagger,
Once in water to still this breath,
Yet the stink of life lingers.
We cannot kill what we do not own,
fighting for repossession, dying
to save the self, to be set free.
There is always a man waiting, our father,
wanting the way a father wants:
to cast, to reel, fisher of men.
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