The gasoline of the night bleeds gold velvet of stars
across the clotted scabs of Nyx’s bower, and from
the breast of night, Heylel ben Shachar, Son of Dawn,
radiant in a rose garden as I press honey to his leonine
mouth, fangs glisten with amber, our hearts beat like
a sonata, and Lucifer is lavender on the tongue. Oh my
sweet Mourning Star, how many eternities you blazed.
Only to crash down here to the heart of Hell’s jungle,
the lion’s asleep tonight, his belly full of virgins, his
sex quivering under starlight, and like that, his
snake strangles, and I become Phanes playing seesaw
on the Cosmic Egg, the shell of the white universe is
firmer than I imagine, and I and Aion are one, holding
keys, plieing as the Orphics turn our pedastal with songs
of dismembered Orpheus made home in hollow harvests.
Eros is Thanatos, wouldn’t you know? Love and Death are
God’s ultimate mistakes, so only the Devil reigns them.
Who stole your heart, so essential to the whole, my love?
Was it a trickster, using mirrors or sleight of hand? Who
hurt your heart, so essential to the whole? Maybe a witch
can unchain you, unbind you, but as of now, sleep as deep
as dead men dream.
We Dance the Danse Macabre 