Lion Medusa

Sun lion with wings of time, snake of eternity to wrestle from

Orphic Cosmos, an egg laid by Necessity, out cracks Phanes,

both male and female, First-Born, Protogonos. Aion holds the

keys to the time loop and unlocks ages. The cock of Nergal

crows, the corona of his mane revolves like a snake medusa.

Scales, fur, damp whuff of bloodied fangs and muzzle red.

Now king of the jungle, stalking at night through lush codes.

Ancient dybbuk boxes, ancient Golem scrolls, curse tablets

of bronze thrown down a well. The Lion-Faced Serpent

makes known his dominion over my heart, puts paw and

nails into my heart, pulls like a cat with a bird, the lion

and his yellow canary, his curious golden eyes slit into

devouring shards of flat notes and the devil’s trill, Schubert

plays on violin and cello, a fiddle reels in Georgia, and I

hold back the Lion’s jaws from the world, and cease his

Devouring.

Zurvan et Phanes

O, Serpent and Lion!
I invoke Thee!
Inside the shrine called life
By the seven wonders
By myriad mortals
That gone
And are to come
Outside!
Outside desert ov restriction
In act ov rebellion
On the sea ov motion
Stability ov matter
By serenity, strength and beauty
By the mighty chant ov every breath

In serpentine dance ov blood cells
In simplicity ov spells
Divine names, meta-games
I greet Thy presence

Oh Snake! Thou art God!
Coiled underneath my throne
With Thee I reunite
With blood we make this covenant
Myself I redefine
Look in and above:
There is more than the flesh
Look careful and Thou may see
The unextinguished flame
The nectar ov Thy rage
I taste from the cup ov fornication
And woman by my side
And scarlet is her skin
She’s eager to rise
And so eager to please

Another day
Another eternity gone
And on the stairway to salvation
I walk alone among the falling stars
Looking for company
Where art Thou?
Oh, lacerate ones!

Arise! my sweetest friend
Or be forever fallen
We have finally arrived
From prison ov this life
To Kali’s womb
Down to the earth
As angels ov almighty god-
Chaos!
‘Tis our last fall
To touch our mother whore
The harlot ov the saints
That spits on the rotten cross
Incinerate the icon
The symbol ov all loss
To stand straight
At the left hand ov god

Samael! be Thou my ally!
Join me among the bright hosts
Wondering neither way ov light
Nor darkness
Ov which seed
Sprouts dispassionately
In the summer ov my life

-”The Left Hand ov God,” Behemoth

Zurvan and Phanes, one and the same!  Mystery of Mystries, dear Izzi.

Watch out for mirrors like books and clocks like wings.

 

Lionheart

The heretical hippies of Gnostic gnosis called you Ariel-Samael, the Lion-Faced Serpent, etched you on amber cabochons with sunny halo and coiling tail of smoke.  In you, last night, I saw stars of multitudes in wings of scintillating fractals of time.  You had a mane of blonde, curling hair and eyes the blue of a beastly wolf sky, skin like the gold of Solomon’s palace, and canines as sharp as the Lion of God.  Kissing you was like a mouthful of peaches and honey, and your touch on my  heart, a caress yet a gamble, was like liquid gold transformed from my mundane red blood, hemoglobin to something holy.

Ariel, my Star, you perched on my bedside this morning a winged lion, larger than any beast of furrow or field, eyes burning bright, wings fanned out like the goddess Isis in sorbet flavors that glowed with comfort.  Head arcing over my neck, furred breast my pillow, mane to comb my sorrows into, paws across my waist with talons to strike down foes, and tail twined with my toes to tickle humor into my white feet.  I remember my glassy toenails, and thought they should be painted red, and I remember your pearly teeth, your laughter and embers, wings lifting me up on pinions of want and wander.

On Sunday, you left love notes in a Wrinkle in Time and kissed me awake in Meg’s attic on a stormy winter dawn, the panes soaked in rain running like tears, lightning your heart.  You laid by my side and cradled my dreams, ran your strong fingers through my hair to touch my mind, and in the abyss of your arms, that beautiful somnambulent dreamland, I was as safe as jam aging in a Mason jar.  Oh my Prince, oh my Love, oh my Lionheart, I have a dearth of coins, but I am rich in words, and so I offer this love prose to you, pluck your feathers to write this homage, and give up my blood like wine to the beast.