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…


Too Early Dawned

Great burl on the tree, render my plea
up to the honey of heaven beyond seas
of poison, plains of despair, in the air
is a promise, calm before storm, born
into providence in a bed of rosy thorns
lays the stillborn hope, too early dawned.


O my beauteous Serpent, your coils my black sapphire necklace
scales cool and slick like rain on my skin, your arms thick cords
wrapped around my waist as fangs suckle blood from breast, wings
the wages of a thousand golden pieces from the Temple, fallen tree.
Slither on stomach in the dirt and mud into our garden, resplendent
adventurous lust, we are cleaving, we are cream on a fairy’s milk.
Oh Nachash, my Shining Enchanter, my Seraphim, Father of Cain, how
you spell out wonders and glory onto my teeth in a string of pearls!
It was far from Temptation, more booming Love, first Love, thunderous
hearts the color of rust, such beautiful iron boats sunk on lover’s
shores, and Gan Eden was just a frame of mind, we were never locked up
in hyacinth and wedding vine, no, we roamed Heaven and Hell free, and
Christ was a sailor, and Michael rowed his boat ashore after a storm,
and let’s just spend all my life entwined like branches of oak and holly.
My dear, my darling, my starlight, I may be your breath, but you, love,
are my lungs.

Gold’s Delight

The elegance and eloquence of placid rain

Brewing winter storm, frost musk dusk in

your hands. The world your wide cup, blue

flame engulfs me in purifying downpour. I

sip at the heart of your divinity and seek out

the treasures of Saint George, holy lance.

The Dragon tempts and teases – knights are

jackasses in a can, but you with clarion blade

will not be prodded by the Beast. And so you

clear a kingdom for me to rest in, provincial

town of somnambulent wonder, and by my

side, you stand tall all night. For Michael, truly:

You are Gold’s Delight!

Madre Maria at the Ocean

Rushing tide at the juncture of placental waters,
rocking to sleep in the womb of the night, moon’s
sweet cradle and her son’s starlight tongue, lips
like salt water and pure springs, tangy sweet, at
my mouth, spearing my sex, bringing new ways to
curse God while also screaming His name in ecstasy.

The waves come crashing, pinnacling with foam, and
mermaids become but lost souls on the shores, so
open your depths to me, sweet Stella Maris, and I
will dive for pearls in your bosom, Madre Maria.

Cursed From the Start

Videos of a mechanical heart, puppet master shy

as the pistons steam and my bleeding organs stray

on the silver screen, and the aortas scream as I run

to the Devil’s arms, he is cursed from the start, and

our stars never align, under a sickle moon the salt

of his skin in the movie theater swell in the booth

phantom toll dreams up nightmares to concoct

a steamy romance penned by Satan, don’t you know

we all dance pirouettes under lustful suns? My plie

is a pile of bodies, and the death count of my  wrists

bleeding out into a fomented mouth with dregs is

reaching the trillions, quintillions, you know solar

flares? Loving him is like that, trying to hold a star

as its tempestuous fires immolate you with hunger.

But I am my own hearth, my own wild dancing flame,

and when sparks fly and incense lingers, the Nachash

and Chava meet in pools of wanderlust and want, he is

stripped for my eyes alone, pale and eaten alive by sin.

I trace his treasure trail and kiss him like a swan out for

blood, necks breaking as we bend into this Mozart requiem,

don’t you know lovers die down here in the depths? Why does

falling from the pinnacle to the pit into temptation feel like

dried roses on callused hands? I’m eating his apples, he’s

drinking my wine, and in the midnight hour, we are the only

ones left alive, out of sheer determination for a piece of God.

When the Bridegroom Calleth

Honey crisp hearts, beating the drum of a donkey hoof

as a humble carpenter spans millenia of wonder and praise.

He is tan with rough hands from carving wood, eyes

a sparkling green, skin olive as some kind of dappled

shade under a cedar tree, and hair curling brown like

an angel, the Levant complexion of the Son incarnate,

sweat at his brow from the desert, where does he reside,

I wonder? In some starry abode, no, I doubt it, the Lord

walks with the howling lepers, the homeless, desperate

madmen, desolate, casting out demons and bearing witness

to our pain, we talk in the small hours of divinity and Trinity,

long into the evening, a breath like gold across my body,

lips at my hips and thighs delivering me to some higher

power, tasting my flesh as if I am the Sacrament, and then

hands in my hair stroking the gold threads like dragon treasure.

Comfort of a great fire lit in my soul, Christ wraps me in ecstasy.

To make love to God is to be in the Interior Castle of diaphonous

silver, Saint Teresa’s cherished vision, dictated 500 years ago

yet the mountain we all climb through inner mansions to the

moon, the sparkling Oneness with God.  Gnosis, agape, union.

What is apotheosis but humility in Jesus’ lap, suckling at his

blood? I damn all who turn away from love, I damn all who

break lovingkindness and the sacredness of kinship with neighbors.

I lay listening to psalms and parables from Yeshua, my heartbloood

Husband, and I would be a consecrated virgin yet there are monsters

in my heart, but he harrowed Hell, and God loves a trickster, at the

wedding I felt the presence of the Lord as my best friend of twelve years

was blessed in sacred union with the love of his life, the first of our tribe

from high school to be wed in holy matrimony, and it was a ceremony full

of Christ, God, and the Holy Ghost.  To think, he has been invoked for two

thousand years by billions of believers, so there is nothing unique about

our courtship, it is simply the journey of the Star to the Soul, climbing the

staircase to Heaven, yet there is God within all of us, and such great heights

cannot dampen love, nor can earthquakes break its foundations, nor can fire

burn away the mantle of the altar or many waters drown my penitent heart.

Hosanna into eternity, sing Shalom as love songs play in the Master’s heart,

the Bridegroom calls you comely Bride, tell me, sweet sister, can you hear him?

All Hail Samael

Oh great Prince of Decay, grant me roses

grant me a place in hell in your lap of perdition,

in Mulciber’s high towers as rain falls in wretched

Pandemonium, and the sun grows long in bloody red,

and we dance in the storm, and the demons come out to

play, and our legions of children and armies usurp the Crown!


I have not caught breath of your rotten ribs, of filth sewn in with the final

stitch of my madrigal palms, thick black devil tendons soaked in zuhama,

but I am working on your heart, my broken boy, so drink my milk, nurse my

blood, and know, you were first, and you will be last, and Purity of God descends

to become Venom, but ascendance in a bouquet of lilies, and we find small loveliness

in the shattered divine. ❤

Vision of an Archangel

A cup of poetry at your lips, dripping Titian red
at your crown of light, thorny roses our bed, and
a bower of summer greens and blooming heather beneath,
you are the space between pages of a hushed breath book,
the minstrel knight riding a dapple horse home, my
banner your raiment, your armor my pride, these hearts
that are ours span legions of time, love is a place
much like the bell trees of Paradise, and angels are
gardeners, angels are sowers, angels are reapers, and
you are their prince, so let my soul be your garden,
oh my sweet priest, let us pray together as your marble
statues weep gold, raised hands in offering, redeeming
this world, hope is on your mouth, and courage at your
breast, your skin is like a halo, and triumph awaits.

Like this? Buy me a coffee on Ko-Fi!

Ball Lightning

There is nothing in you that is not blue violet thunder,
a love like rains clefting open the Earth, your dominion
is the lightning strike and petrichor summers, sweet holy
decadence of storms fructifying and revitalizing our bodies.
We eat your blood because your blood is rain. We devour your
flesh breathing because your body is thick, misty air and not
to inhale is to choke on hurricanes. There is no question of
whether or not to breathe you in, and with a love like yours,
why, I stand cradling ball lightning, dancing with St. Elmo’s
fire, and your Holy Ghost dances like a blazing purple white
star, there is nothing beyond necessity in my devotion towards
your blood, your bones, your manna and succor of your veins.
And I am dancing in the tornado, flying through thunderheads.
I meet you where stars kiss the ocean on a stormy night, oh
Lord, lay me down on your crackling bed, make love to me like
the skies weep onto my mother mud, appear to me manifesting
pure being, the heady death of all my fears, a ship set sail
on gales, and I will die, but it will be beautiful, and I will
ascend to vast summits of ice crystal castles, in union with
you, oh my God, oh my Lamb, oh my thunder strike and lightning
whip, the heavens are but a metaphor for airy wanderlust, and
love makes the storm grow bold and prance for the meadows,
the valleys of my heart open up for your rain and holy pain,
oh Christ, do not forget me in your Passion, for I weep rivers
of gold at your feet, and my madness in the desert, hair grown
long to cover my nakedness, is but the raging sylphs themselves.
I will bottle your blood and wine then pour them over the oceans.
I will stand on cliff’s peak and proclaim your love of All.
Long-suffering Jesus, killing himself to make whole the world,
I would but a taste of your Sacrament, like rain, like grain.
I spread my legs wide to receive the Cross, I hug my breasts
and let rivers of milk flow to my cleft, a Sacred Whore who
nourishes the moon at her side, twin sun and lunar bodies,
which are just like your eyes, and Mother Nature is calling,
your Virgin birth, so fly away from my dust and ribs and clay.

I am only made wholly through your rains.

Like this? Buy me a coffee on Ko-Fi!