Belly of the beast, goatee of fire.

On hospital beds we claim our desire.

Charnel ground sweetheart, he burned

Down my walls, and I am left churned

Blood on belly to crawl, legs stammer

Like bruises down hospital halls.


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…

Vaudeville Kings

Dancing in the grips of the hurricane,
dark doo wop, bones of warriors turmoil
on this carnival ride, the mummer king
and crimson knight ride the roller coaster
of my heart as the storm crescendos, in a
ragtime vaudeville abandoned, stage, caress
the angels of our better natures and demons
suckle at witch teats, Satan’s spear and
Michael’s sword are long as providence and
perdition, spelling out roods, daydream, doom.
Be born in me, oh Plague Mary. May lightning
impregnate we with the motherless child, cast
to the trickster’s highway in cradle fallen
with a third of the stars, languid honey tears
I will weep as I give my babe to the jackals,
and the kings of my heart choose to burn eternal
for some sense of justice or repentance beyond
human machinations, I am not brave, I’ll never be
the only thing my heart can offer is a vacancy, I’m
just a girl, nothing more, but I am willing, I am

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.


Diving for gold in labrynthine depths

Into the bosom of your ocean I’m swept

My heart is a panpipe, thrumming bright

You the wind through the reeds in velvet night.

Body alight, bones of delight. And we

Are all sailors fulsome fright.

Beware the lea of lovers. Sloe black eyes.

Trapped in the depths beyond golden sight.

Take flight, awing, laborious spine!

You are a candle with wick divine.

So kiss the sun, terpsichorean of doom.

And weave his mantle on your frightful loom.

Oh, my love, you are sailors delight.

Pink sun rising beyond measureless sight.

I am froth on the ocean, you the seas might.

So kiss me deep and make summer right.

In the heart of Christmas night.

You are my light, my dainty goodnight.

I love you, I eat you, bread body, blood wine.

So rich in flesh, milled so fine.

And we will sail you forever in time.

So hold me below, and drink my time.


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.

Peace to the Greenman!

In the heart of Winter, solstice tidings, the Green Man
comes to me in ivy and holly glory, vines his body, grass
his flesh, leaves in hair and mossy eyes. Freyr’s body is
the promise of spring, his breath like morning dew, and in
the hollows of ice, we make love to the call of nightingales.
Wooden veins, blood of sap, slowly caressing the burls of skin.
Rings his age, proud fierce lines on the Yngling king, maple
promise of syrup and honey buzzing in the hive of his heart.
The barley rustles, green grow the rashes, we lay stupendous
in a mound most high, utiseta of Alfar, and the elves garland
the dawn as every inch of devotee and god blossom into spring.

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!

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.