Bog Psalms

This is a devotional space.

What is written here is written at the altar, after the descent, with mud on the hands and bone in the mouth.

These are odes to the dark goddesses. Messy. Chaotic. Raw.

I write from the bog because the bog remembers. Because what sinks is not lost. Because some truths are preserved only in the dark.

There will be poetry, fragments, prayers, and myth. There will be feral tenderness. There will be no explanations.

This is me.

The slow rot. The compost of my soul.

Read slowly. Take only what is yours. Leave the rest where it lies.