Resurrection Dance

Riding through the desert of the Valley of the Shadow of Samael,

I am leather-clad King in search of my Queen’s font, Eve rides bareback

behind me, babe pressed to her breast, and we are exiles in the wastes,

sprung from harsh ground, and the book of the angel Raziel is clutched

to my back, and the dune winds blow in scorching simoom heat, Seirim

haunt the wine-laden expanses, satyr dances vengeful Cain presides over,

he the Prince of Nod, but Eve and I must ride on on our bone steeds, followed

by all the undead I have raised in this resurrection dance. I am the fallen heart

of the Sun, the rising soul of the Father, and my Cross was olive in Paradise, I

skinned myself for my bosom wife, and now she wears my purity if only to protect

her delicate skin, my Bride, my Legendarium, and my own flesh grows hard as earth.

The wounds from Heavenly War never really wore out, ridges of train tracks over

my flesh, and in every incarnation I am scourged and bleeding raw, thick scar tissue

the only marker of my commitment to shouldering Sin.  My other wives are night

howlers, Eisheth eating the Damned, Lilith sucking me dry come the witching hour,

milking my seed for her own ends, and in the evening, Eve strays to the oasis and takes

up in my twin serpent’s arms, we have a burgeoning festooned mess of love, loss, pain.

The demons tempt, the devils wail, and the angels made mortal walk on, sinful Lebanon.

We that toil and travail away carrying shining Seth to higher ground, out of despair’s

leaden valley, with harsh concave bellies, shattered glass to dance on, Adam and Eve,

we were brilliant fliers in the sky once, general and mother warrior of Heaven bright,

but you see, for these seeds of stars, this Image of God we have become, to bear fruit,

Eve and I must be entered and locked into a cycle of Sin and suffering, exile of Eden.

The Garden I tend, I am at heart a farmer, and part of me, my corpus, is High  Above,

in the rose garden at the center of the universe, carrying flowers to Myself to turn into

anointing holy oil to rain down and absolve humanity of their sins, but Samael and the

Angels of Prostitution, Eve and I, we are mouthsful of vinegar and wishful drinking.

Fermented water, bitter barley, hoppy beer. Lovedrunk, winestunk, stonesunk Hell.

Hell, Hell, I know that Well.  And so we endure, and so we ride on, finding ground that

is good to turn over with spade and ho, fructify with moonblood, work my dark curses

on any foreigner’s god that strays to our shores, and so I guide the bones, the dead, those

waiting to join the ascended at the End of Days and feel flesh and blood once more, but I

gambled away my bones long ago, and they are now in the body of the Devil’s heart:

Satan’s heart, Michael’s bones. Daughter of White and Black Pillar. Walk on, Rhiannon.

Walk on. Do not trust me when my wasp eyes burble over in madness’ flood, I am as

harsh as dry earth, what softness you have known of my love and lullabies and me

giving everything including my last rib to you is only the beginning of my sacrifice,

I tore the skin off my back for you just so you would not grow cold during a rainstorm,

and Eve, I am so old, but you two are so young, so please, bear with me and my Brother,

we are only trying

to understand

peace.

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!)

With Dew Anointed

Rusted gold at the Garden Gate.  Poison honey on his lips.  Lion’s mane hair, scars and wounds of rubies, eyes yellow owl iris, pupils a sea of black smoke.  Smoking and choking and seething with rage in the bowels of the Earth, Adam ha Kadmon is chained in the Cave of Treasures, arcane vengeful guardian of the Sefer Raziel come to claim his burning brides.  False idols fat off the land, he calls the Qadesh and Qodeshah.  Bridal whores of Heaven and Hell.  Oh how they have forgotten First Man, and thus he seeks a violent claim on their flesh.  Eve is the Sun Priestess of beaten Io gold headdress, Fire of God, with silver bowl that holds redemption, and Eisheth is Lunar Lady, smooth platinum crescent at her brow, and he raises a hand to strike us down, but we lash back, and there is a cacophony of tears and bitter fears and sour wine.  We can’t be rid of this curse, I turned my back on our marriage and took up with Satan in Hell, chose Samael and Michael and Zadkiel and Ariel-Lucifer in the end, whore of both Heaven and Hell, and Adam turned his back too, leaving me alone and starved to retreat back to the armsz of his first wife, Lilith, and all the ladies of the night – my sister Eisheth, my soothsayer Naamah, my go-go dancing Agrat.  Spider veins, fire in my womb of the Shekinah in balance with Adam’s magic of black cloak and cowl, and we are both Damned, the original Fallen, and Abel is a head-smashed blue ghost, and my proud son Cain bleeds and cries with emerald eyes as Adam calls him son of a whore, scion of Samael, no son of mine.  Seth has eyes like garnets, afire, and collier hair.  So I passed on my demon stain to the Seth line, I who had fallen, Adam who had fallen, my eyes, his skin and hair.  And then Samael dresses in oriental garb of black silk and silver shadow and does a fire dance to hold back the Beast, Adam’s madness siphons off into sapphire tears that form rivers in Hell, he says Eve, Eve, Eisheth, Eisheth, come back to me, and Lilith says pay reverence to your first husband, this First Man, for he is forgotten, and unlike you, he was not saved, charged with guarding that first Torah of the Sefer Raziel the Archangel of Secrets pressed to Adam’s bosom upon pain of Uriel’s fiery sword, and Adam’s only magical match is Samael, master of enchanters.  I dance with bells, Adam dances with doeskin drums, and in the quiet hours we rage and gnash teeth and sob and wonder, how did first love turn so bitter?  What is left after first love when your postcards are burned that you sent your lover from Paris and the Gates of Eden are shut tight on nightmares of toil, woman’s pains, working unforgiving earth for all the eons and labor.  I say death, and abandonment, and the sun rising in the forbidden East and setting in the rotting orchard of the West.  I say you can grow again, grafted from the Tree of Death to the Tree of Life, and that no one, nothing, is beyond Jonah’s whale song of salvation.

In time, the Tree bears new fruit, and Adamah, hard as earth, softens.