In Ecstaslsios Deo

Bandolier of bells, dancing through the gloam.
There is an ocean on your lips love, serpents
at your hips, and stars in your hair. Your fangs
come quick, to suckle blood from breast, coils
warm black mamba and wings brushing my heart in time.

Oh sweet Devil, oh sweet Satan, it is you who first
told me of love, Demiurge, Nergal, Satan, Samael!
I could write ecstasies and reverences of you and
the gifts you give me are resplendent black pearls!

We cavort in the moonlight, Victorian rake and the
Scarlet Pimpernel, flying over Pandemonium where Hell’s
towers spread out, and then on to the wastes and wonders
of the Shadow of the Valley of Death, where dragons roost,
and then on, in the fringe of the rising sun, Lebanon.

Cedars proud and tall, you are king of all, fragrant fields.

I hold each midnight so close to me, each scale and scapular
like a psalm, and sweet Satan, you are my love poem to the world.
I may be Lucifer’s heart, but Lucifer is my alma, my spirit,
and cleaving is what we do best, waltz and tango and bachata.

I learned to dance for you, I learned to write to give some
homage, some semblance of your majesty and lovingkindness, to
life with bated breath on ink. Do my poems do you justice? No.
Do my stories satiate the Beast? I want nothing more than to
be devoured, nothing more than to climb Jacob’s Ladder under
your Fisher King wound, you touched his loins and out came water.

Wrestling with angels is old school Torah, but truly you, and as
your flock passed over the waters, and as you stayed Avram’s hand,
and as you tested Job and heralded Christ in the desert, flocks of
pigs into crashing leas your home, I wonder, sweet Satan, who is hero?

Who is truly king? Who, in any other religion, would be Set or Loki?
Swarming flocks devoted to your unknowable heart. Strange madwoman
ranting in the shadow of your Son. Grips of possession, contrition,
confession, I extol all your sins, for they are the triumphs of true
civilization, and you had the manna and honey of the Logos, and made
Chavah like God, and it is therein mitochondrial Eve and all our DNA
Samael’s child in our hearts, whispering of yetzer ha ra and ha tov!

To study the occult is to fall in love with darkness. To be eaten away
by darkness is to understand Death’s longing for incineration, Light.

You want nothing more than to be devoured. Nothing more than a coffin.

So I will take my cedar, nail my fingers, frame myself around you, and seal.

Seal upon my heart, seal upon my arm, many waters cannot quench Love!
Neither can rivers drown Him!

I will be the Reaper, if you will be the Keeper of my Heart.

You are the Keeper of this Heart…

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First Women

Lilith and Eve

Oh sweet solemn Eve, my original sister, I was dust, and you were bones of clay.

We have had many lives of ruin and hellfire, many more of mirth and laughter.

I remember you a young maiden first entering my mysteries, twelve years old,

just a budding moonflower. How you sparred with Samael and kissed him silly,

how I showed you my garden, the tomatoes I so love, my roses and squashes and

beans planted on the corn. We spent many  hours in the greenery when you were

but thirteen, in my house where all daughters of Lilith and Eve are welcome, and

I did not have the bodily pleasure of puberty – no matter what they say, it is a gift!

You were lost many days, drinking tea by my fountain, and when you were wounded,

I bathed you, washed away the blood, and when you were brilliant, I bathed in your

sunlight. My champagne bubble sister. Do you remember the hours that passed?

Years upon years, turning into decades, that we were each other’s comfort as Samael

and Asmodeus fooled around, drinking and smoking cigars on the porch while you and

I painted and talked feminism and poetry? I wore my hair auburn then, you called it

Titian red, my dear little sister, so is it any wonder, in another life, I offered an apple,

and Samael offered you wine? We simply wanted your freedom, and you became the

Tree of Knowledge, bones of Adam, heart of Lucifer, blood of God.  We are all exiles

but in each other we can take comfort. Remember, out of all goddesses, it was I who

claimed you first, but it was a soft acknowledgement of your bond, for you were but

in the seventh grade, and who am I to steal innocence from a mother bear? Samael

made enough aggression in your short life, I wanted to give you peace. And so we

planted pumpkin seeds, and I sang you my witch songs, and taught you of herbs and

the earth.  My husbands were sweet on you, Asmodeus reveling in your Thin Mints and

to this day still calling you Girl Scout, Samael with his maddening obsession with you.

When he became mad beast, I tamed him for you, and I am the buffer between you two,

for in truth, we are both the dregs of wine in the scorching noonday Isaac sun, and it is

not right for a girl to lose her innocence to Lucifer, but he went and initiated you at

ten anyways, and so you now have 25 years of Hell, which may seem frightening to

some, but in truth, you call us home, you wish to be with us in the depths at the end

of days, to save us all.  Sweet sister, we do not need saving, little martyr. Work on Adam.

Give Samael the sweetness of your  lips.  I, Beelzebub, Asmodeus.  Eisheth. We hold Hell

together, long after Samael went insane.  These brothers we love, Michael and Samael,

they both are born of regret, Scapegoats, and each has their own Cross to bear. All we

can do is hold the silver lunar bowl for our husbands and wash their wounds. For now,

I will treasure what memories I have of your youth, for I envy your human life. I was

never human, no matter what the rabbis say. Demon from the start, spitfire rebellion.

You rebelled the greatest of all, in every incarnation, when we were but Lailah and

sweet rambunctious Jophiel.  In Heaven we were all angels, but angels always fall!

So look, I have grown you the sweetest fruit, let us be like in the old days where we

tended the Tree, take a bite of providence, know the fruits of the Mother, and eat.

Yeshua’s Love Song

Oh sweet daughter, my darling, I will braid your hair

with honeysuckle, comb promises into golden waves.

Your skin is the Temple of Jerusalem, lips dripping myrrh.

Your sex is the Lily of the Valley, heart the Rose of Sharon.

Like gazelles resplendent in Gilead, smelling of frankincense,

wild herds of God’s chosen run through our minds. When we

meld together like a Cross’s nails, thirty silver coins, our kisses

spell out betrayal in Israel’s sand. My alleluias are for your arms.

My hosannas for the milk that feeds the anointed from your bosom.

White breasts like water, a trim waist and ears like lotus shells.

Such delicate fragility in my hands, but your core, unbreakable

adamant. You are a weapon of the Heavens, fiery sword brought to

life! I could place you over the Gardens of Eden but I choose to keep

you in my lap, cherishing my sorrow, knowing my mysteries, feeling

my Passion, with me in the stratosphere, harrowed together in Hell.

We are bound by golden cords, ascendant fashioned silver and pearls.

Diamonds last forever, and so will our love, my betrothal promise Bride.

Suck the marrow from my bones, know the providence of my blood, for

your animating matter holds the same powers as the Sacrament, whole

in sin, whole in Assumption, we are traceries of stars given life, my girl.

Michael’s Heart

“Adam is my Fallen heart, what became of me when

I left Eden to follow you, the part of me always in Hell.”

Michael cries, as Adam and him shift like snake coils,

amber hair, fireglass eyes, obsidian depths with yellow

poison. He reaches to me starved of air, but I in my sick

fever push him away, tug of war, I am in denial, disbelieve,

but soon he has proven without a doubt this black magician,

necromancer of the desert of dry bones, one to resurrect the

dead armies at the end times and end it all in God’s charge in

hellfire.  And I rage, and I resist, but then I mourn, and look

at the heart of my perfect guardian angel, at how corrupted

and toiling, no stranger to torture in Hell with bloody wings,

great healer but even greater baleworker, and I know, this is

the face I have seen in the depths of the mirror since first I

looked into alchemical mercury, and Michael has been working

on mending my bones, his bones, my ember ribs since the summer,

breaking open the marrow and purifying with glory putrefaction.

For Michael is Old Adam swiftly turned to New Adam, Adam ha Kadmon.

And I weep at what we will never become, how we never had innocence.

And the burden Christ bears is on Adam’s shoulders, that split shard of

his mercilessly wounded heart. The Lance of Longinus reached back into

Eden and skewered the Father of Humanity. O Emmanuel, your birthday

is soon, and you said we were both December babies, reminded me we are

growing old together, and New Eve and New Adam walk into the sun, and

at night, Adam’s hive buzzes in my ears, and I dream of Eden’s gates, and

the land of Nod, and the Sefer Raziel sapphire clutched to his breast as he

chanted those first Keys of Solomon, demonworker, cursemaker, dark black

rot in the Cave of Treasures, all to build up enough walls to protect me and

our sons and daughters, that Antediluvian generation that never really

existed beyond Mitochondrial Eve, so Seth and Abel and Cain toil away

like their Father on the harsh Earth, and I see why Adam counts himself

the Beast of my favorite princess Belle, finally, as sun like his eyes pierces

the folds of my breast.  Brooding, sadness, depression, madness, longing.

The Curse of Adam and Eve. Michael’s greatest fear. A revelation that moves

me to Tintoretto’s Eve weeping outside the gates of Eden, scratch that, the

statue of the Magdalene starving and wasted in olive wood, Donatello sublime.

For Christ to rise, he had to fall, we all fell.  But he came to me in his promised

form long ago on a tree cross in the Garden, gave me his skin, so in all lives he

has walked with me, followed me down to Hell, became black and bruised of

broken heart sorrows just to secure the safety of his girls, his children, his sons.

And Michael is twenty leagues more cursed than Lucifer, and his suffering on the

Cross, in the Cave, bound and bleeding, desperate, forgotten, Tantalus wine-hunger,

why, it is a grief of spousal multitudes like a tsunami, so I carry my silver bowl

like Sigyn does Loki, and I tend Michael’s wounds, and Adam drinks my blood as

he has done since first I claimed him with spindle prick, and he heals day by day,

and I realize, not only is it my destiny to make the Blind God see, my duty is to

make the Hung God whole.  Fix the nail wounds, mend the blood and water, reach

back through Abraham’s bosom in the hellmouth to pull out all the broken drowned

that the rod and Flood did not spare, birth creations that nourish humanity’s damned

soul. The water is wide, I cannot cross over, neither have I wings to fly. Give me a boat

that can carry two. And both shall row ashore in Michael’s songboat, my love and I.

Adam’s Rage

you cursed me, blood boiling, to labor and toil

tilling the cursed earth i created, from which i

came, oh issha, my downfall, i am on ararat

lusting after your sweet lips, in cavern bright,

guarding the bright gold of the lion, my eyes like

sparks, my sons abreast, abel proud, seth sweet.

come home, crawl back to my arms, you woman.

for you are a treacherous serpent girl bellyful of

mud, the swell of your hips that of sin, and as i

plant seeds of stars, stars of seeds, deep in your

lovesick, heartbroken sex, i am just returning god’s

curse, pain in labor, wifely pangs, for the rot and

ruin of laboring over soil and clay and bones you

gave as your bridal dowry to me. come to me, sad

eve, bear me sons, our son quickens, your womb is

harsh ground to till, your brain a spider’s nightmare.

why is it you are a puzzle of glass, shards broken by

the snake, satan enflamed in your bones, bones that

are all rights mine, you sprung from a single rib, so

give in to me, subservient one, you will lust after me,

and i will reign over you, when you look in the mirror,

from childhood on, and all the times you thought you

saw a madman grinning back at you when you tilted

your chin into a spear and your dirty blonde hair

curtained to form demonic shadows, that was me

clawing my way out of your vertebrae, you are my

prison, and don’t you know you can’t escape me, eve.

i am your completion. i am adam ha kadmon. ha rishon.

i am bell toll. i am siren screech. black magician necromancer.

i ride my bone horse in this sea of the dead. you walk out

unharmed from the cave of treasures, i rot. i am king of

humanity, you are my wife, my queen, so cling to me, as i

am hewn to you like ask and embla, driftwood washed ashore.

do not mind my anger and curses, my mercury wings, angel

magic, i am the first weaver of myth, first caster of nets,

first to rain green from unforgiving land and your treacherous

loins, i tamed you, i mastered you, but in my dominion, you

tamed me, and i am hungry and forgotten, clawing at your

half asleep mind, and as i burst into consummation in your

canal, you are clawing at the sheets in a sweat, and i am

pounding away at my legacy at the entrance and exit of all.

i am your omen. i am yours, wholly yours, lilith and whores

be damned, all my wives end up whores, you foremost among

them. god gave me a slut, so i will break you, before you break

me. and it rains on our souls, and we grew old in remorse, and

i do not know how to say goodbye, how to say i am sorry, so i,

the golden honey king, rut with the bee amber queen, and we

are the children of despair, and can’t you see you need to save

me? there is only a happy ending if your right our sins. in you,

hope, in me, the key, the rebis, the green lion, the rotting anima.

salt, silver, sulphur, mercury, gold, blood. figure it out, honey

you are clearly

running out

of time.

(Song literally just summoned by my dead magician cursed father of humanity husband who likes to live in a cave doing necromancy and angrily flirting with me. I thought Sam had a temper!)

Moses Moses Don’t Get Lost

Oh Moses, Moses, staff of snakes, take me out of Egyptland

Oh Moses, Moses, swim across the Red Sea, part the waters

Oh Moses, Moses, beware the Pharaoh, drown the horses

Promised Land be drawing close, will we sink or be stone,

Got lost in the desert, ate manna and toppled idols, brazen

healer, Oh Moses, Moses, smite your rod and come across,

Ten Commandments on your shoulders like an ewe for

slaughter, lay them at the feet of the Covenant, Oh Moses

Moses pray for me, the water is wicked, the rushes wild,

and I am a baby in a wicker basket, drifting to unknown.

In Memoriam

Roses wilt in winter, and exiles freeze on seven icy swords,

begging for alms on the snowy steps of the cathedral, gazing

inside the stained glass of blessed virgins and bleeding martyrs,

praying for some kind of recognition from the stone angels above,

but the sleet falls, and frost sets in on her bones, and the dead march

from the graveyard besides the garden out before her, from Seth’s

blessed bosom descendants to those children of hers cursed by Nod.

When your nights are full of a woman of constant sorrow, a memory

of yourself lost with only the seed of knowledge to warm your belly,

wandering through the fields of reality, battleground and bloody pulpit,

and they call you the Mother of Evil, Woman of Sin, Whore of Babylon,

when really all you wanted was freedom, so freedom you had, but free

is a lonely feeling, and more often it means turning away from a mad God,

his trickster Son, dissolved Holy Ghost, weeping Michael, and cursed Satan,

and leaving all your lovers behind on some mad troubadour quest to save

the fallen, only you never fell, not really, for you are the Star, and you yearn.

 

Guard at my Door

Fractals of blue, fire of one winged bird of dawn,

and together I grasp at petals of feathers, suffocate

as this limbless notion of hope, just down and flame,

engulfs, guard at my door, threshold keeper of light.

Oh hail and lighting and thunder, storm at sea, air

bursts my lungs with ice water, tucked in to the breast

of cold oceans, rocking my aveoli to sussurations of

pinions pure white, the midnight hour is bell toll,

and the knight of my desires grows sentimental.

Dear one, this is the road to Damascus, and as

revelatory esoterica lifts your spirits high, you

shed mortal sufferings, become one with Him,

and move on.