Unseelie
Look, you faerie killer,
You wing clipper, glamourless
Architect, look
How the gossamer thins
And look, you newborn,
Fomorian soldier. The
Iron was mined
On the shoulders of progress.
Styrofoam magic,
Circuitry warlocks, and
Witches with shopping carts
Slurping through straws
Formaldehyde rich,
Cauldron stirrers, changelings.
Red caps and sluagh.
Look, you fir bolg,
Gwydion's bane.
You, who thinks little of folk
and less of magic,
Chained to the scrying mirror,
Ghost of dew,
Look at the seasons,
Each one in reversal and
Spitting out blackness.
Selkies undressed.
And look, once more to
The aging horizon.
You've blacked out the stars,
In favor of filament wisps.
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