KIZATAZIK

Artisan of Apocalypse

The vagrant slave is here, playing her pipe.
She wants the wolfman, the odious one.
A basin. A zip. A pelvis.
What is food?

The terracotta of the pharmakon.
A small harvest, to cleanse the ether.
Strays in the dark forest.
Where are you?

The archer kneels. An occult trick.
Cut the lines; the archon horde.
The girl throws silence.
Who are you?

We are from vacuum, the swan.
We come from people, the dogs.
No longer a play doll.
Kizatazik be praised with mud.

Apostles of Fragmentation NFT Collection