Volantem Daemoniorum

Dark angels ascend from Dante’s seventh circle—
manics who composed their anguish
before resolutely taking their lives—
toward floating celestial orbs ablaze

transforming into recognizable shapes
wingless birds, snowflake fingerprints,
blue graffiti smudges, bloodless wounds,
flowers so black they never pollinate

setting water afire with their gazes—
waiting for prey to marvel and investigate,
swooping down to push them closer
until they stumble at the precipices

and fall, fall, fall through silent portals,
becoming ensnared by Hell’s master

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