Damocles

Precious
like a single golden thread
blonde hair twined in my fingers
torn in the clutch of passion
perilous as it may be
divided for love's sake
this is my own sword
my own force invoked
and I may fall on upon it
but I am better for the cleaving
and still better for the cleaving
I regret nothing
for I am clean wounded
and warm blooded at last

Lest I die, Unshriven

I have imperiled my immortal soul in your name

I have imagined your eyes, abyss-black with desire
I have delighted in the thought of your absolute corruption
I have dwelt on violence, envisioned you shocked and colorless
I have toyed with obsession, seen repeating patterns in your every gesture
I have felt myself slipping, and cursed myself for not letting go
I have been unappreciative, petty and trifling with your affection
I have let myself become enthralled by my own despair
I have screamed and raved to incorporeal spirits about you
I have laid tricks in your path, stolen tokens and worked charms against you
I have undone all my good works for one fleeting moment, here and now
I have dreamed of you every night in the dark oblivion before the dawn
I have craved you as a succubus that comes to me, all consuming, as is in your nature
I have truly adored you and all that you are, your heretical divinity
I have cherished each breath you take and the trip-hammer of your heartbeat
I have never meant to distress you, but I cannot apologize for the way I am
Lest I die, unshriven
I request absolution
The calm that comes from the heat of your proximity
The forgiveness that comes with the brush of your hand

My demons are quelled by your momentary trespass
I step back from the brittle edge, unbroken again

Ode to a Dis-eased Spirit

I remember you, always
beloved geisteskrank
holding your face in my hands,
my opal eyed beauty,
your lips to kiss, cool and soft as night

but how often i would find you
brooding and preening
or flouncing off into shadows
or pouting in darkness
like the petulant dead

and years that pass into memory -
now I drink flat tea from chipped cups
with absent guests
that leave red lined calling cards
etched on my pale skin

here among the living
as you are, but are not and will never be
one step between you have always been
and I the medium, poor at my trade
can never again call you to rise

To Divine You

No crystal sphere I need to see
where bitter memory still leads me.
Take my hand, my soul departs
your ghost will shatter my opaline heart.
No tokens to throw, no cards to deal
your passing, mere turning upon the wheel.
No need to decipher this ancient cabal
Fortuna upended, the tower will fall.
No mirror black I need to scry
to follow the strand between you and I -


..I close my eyes to divine you
(cast your bones anywhere, I can still find you)

Come, Holy Spirit

Let it come, not tickling like a feather
or like the fan of the temptress,
beckoning me to secret chambers
not like the caress of a lover,
a light touch to wake me in the pallid pink dawn
but like the wing of a dove sweeping sharp
or a rush of fire cutting through blind haze
brutish as a slash throat razor
and there is the truth spilling out
collecting in pools around my heels
clay bound and crumbling to dust
as I am -
Come, holy spirit, enlighten me

Disclosure

Never doubt my devotion to you
I might say
still setting a tooth edge and tip of tongue
against your neck
you've left me once too often

Please ask me where it hurts
I might point at plaster statues
aren't we all
cheaply painted stigmatists
in our garish array

If you ask me about the swords in my back
I might tell you which one is yours,
depending on my mood
it's all of them of course
but I don't want you to cry

If you check in my left hand
I still might have
sugar cubes for all the pretty horses
red white black and pale
the blood in my ears still pounds like hoofbeats

Or you may see me sometime
picking black feathers from the ground
I think these will be important later
my guardian angels, I might say
some assembly required

My purity is transparent but clouded
a veil dragged through dust
some things are better left desecrated
or scorched earth
I'd make a better widow than a bride anyway

I want to crack open and bleed
like a china vase
scattering flowers so long ago given
they're nothing but dry stalks
thorns and colored parchment

I want to walk with you in dangerous places
and with your face in my hands
shove your back against dirty alley walls
my swollen mouth catching you
between a rock and a hard place

I want to close my eyes in the pale pink dawn
cooly twined in body memory
taste of salt and anise
and the vain hope to not wake
as daylight dissolves the tranquil illusion

Book of the Dead

Cross and circle and ellipse
unbroken lines
my fingers tracing sigils
this is the spell and the sequence
the emerging into light
the transfixing
where you come undone
your skin
translucent as alabaster
a canopic jar, unopened
your heart ripe to pluck out
a succulent red fruit
in my voracious hands
my mouth ravenous
like Ammut, to devour