And rampant runs the Word
In the dark night of the soul
Gaslit by lying banners
Rolling down twisted paths
As it turns into worlds
The misdeeds it engenders
Behold the transubstantiation
The perils of the monstrance
Shimmering with the void
That contains no inner core
But half lived virulence
While traveling on the brink
Be mindful of the stare of the abyss
Meet it with the silence of stones
Let Medusa take your hand
As she leads you to higher grounds.
Pina Piccolo, Imola, 6 October 2025