Home >Poetry >
Link copied!
Published: Thu Jul 01 2004
Night reading mode 
AGNI Online


             Strap the spiked belt round your trembling thigh,
you’re in the grip of flesh—

             Each spike digs for its nip.

             Each spike christens its
silver throne—

             in a din of pain against the cock’s
call, the body’s

             of want—


             But to be released by the iron thorn.

             To feel His lamp, His
lion’s clamp—

             so that His black breath comes and
clouds the eye, and you are lifted
             upon His Word—

             Bad dog, the body is.

             You must make it eat the light.

Subscribe, Buy Print Issues, or Donate!

Best value

3 Years

29% Off

2 Free Back Issues

6 Issues


Sign up for the newsletter

Receive updates on our latest ventures, exclusive essays from our editors, discount offers, and more, direct to your email.

Back to top