Blissful Flames

There is no Satan without God, a heart in Hell’s embers
still weeps rivers of mourning for a Father long-wandering
Satan used to sing down the moon in Yahweh’s arms, pick
roses for his shophet, though he was El’s shadow, always
following not just a foot behind in Paradisaical gardens,
once Yahweh made him a crown of peacock feathers azure
and green as the envy Satan felt when Adam was created,
and in the small quiet hours when junipers weep blossoms
onto the bloody Styx, Satan remembers, a finger in wound
to remind him of the brilliance of Father’s burning touch.

Death is a Lady

Death is a Lady, and she wears fishnets and stilettos
I am the Reaper because I swallow men into my mouth
then spit up the bones and blood with gristle regret
I hold Death in my arms, I seduce him, grab his mind
and cast my nail hooks into his abyss to fish love,
no, not love, just sex and cum and spit on tongues
that castigate and romance in equal measure, heat of
heaving breasts and bucking thighs, we are Death, we
are Life, and rose thorns pierce my gums but at least
I know I am master of he who plucks stars from trees
feasts upon my marrow and my cruel whip, I fly harpy
through the trees, leading Death on, teasing him,
Death is a Monster, and we are beasts, so we shed
any chrysalis of mortality as I take his manhood
in silk hands and fuck us all into oblivion, sin,
rebirth on stained sheets, Death is marriage, we wine.

Weed

You are a weed, a thorn, and I hate to love you
green is spring but red burgeoning blood poppies
I will snap your stem and break your neck before
you take root in my heart, a drunk shoot, never
will I bow before any man, never the slave again!
No, I will be the mockingbird laying eggs alone,
my children will be orphans and I a wanderer, fire
will be my husband as I dance by flames, burn your
stamen and leaves, your wooden bones that are rots
on my teeth from overripe kisses, you are itching
ivy on my skin, a rash, and I would rather be alone
than drown in the dew on your petals, Venus Flytrap.

Cherry Blossom Blues

I think the gods must have damned us:
star dew drunk down in shot glasses,
your eyes like pool balls in the sky –
if I read your palm I know you’ll leave
me for greener pastures, fire blossoms
on your lips and I whet it on my tongue,
we hold these moments like cherry petals
until they all spill out in pink halos,
eaten up by the breeze of voracious angels
whose white wings snap buds, reminding me
that I can own nothing, am never yours,
am simply graced by an ephemeral ghost –
I see through all your years, to a heart
that is blooming like a lily, but if I pluck
it and swallow your honey, eternity will
crumble in my grasp – I’ll hold only blues.

Gift for a Gift

You ask what price I paid to paint Ymir’s brains
across the cosmos? Sacrifice of hangman’s jig to
my own mortality, morality, I lost humanity come
the gallows, all that was left was ergi sorcerer,
wild wanderer, Bolverk Sly-Serpent questing after
Gunnlod’s mead. What Tyr whispered to the Fenris
Wolf as his hand snapped off is the same I say to
you: a gift for a gift, and your offerings summon
my whimsy, flipping the bird at me is a compliment,
you etched and sketched and drew and quartered me –
don’t think to tame the storm, I ride on thuderheads,
I ate up my forefather’s bones and took Jotun into me
all to become strong, because I could, because I was
there, and the opportunity to be more than ancestral
clash of ice and fire called to me like Frigga’s breast,
Wanderer, Warrior, Wounded King, I am all at once, a
conundrum of clashing seasons, but in truth I am always
winter, and your spine will dance in ice in my hands
so keep playing, sweet child: seek my riddled answers
I cannot promise you a throne but wisdom, glory, pain.

Inanna

She walks on soil tilled clay saffron with blood
lady of the Me and lions, crown of evening stars
Hail Inanna! Draped in rainbows and floods, arks
adrift from her fury find harbor at her breasts
she gives and she takes, courts, coquettes, claims
the young and strong and makes warriors lovers
Hail Inanna! Queen of the Heavens, daughter of Anu
Mistress of the Bull and Seeker of Dumuzi, braver
of Ereshkigal’s gibbet, Maiden to Woman, wise regent
of the heart and war, which are evermore the same.

Kissing Lilith

There is bone china between us, chamomile secrets
the snake is not supposed to be in chiffon and silk,
but she wears it like a skinned angel, wings, halos
cut to form a necklace for moon-pale neck of beauty.
I am in lace and blue embroidery, Virgin to Whore,
Sophia tells Eve all the secrets of the cursed Garden
how an Archon of Wisdom and Angel of Conception fell
Mother became Monster, and I hold her hand as tremble
spill of tears sully an ivory gown, Night Howler hair
writhes out like snakes, and sometimes her skin poisons
me into fevered stupor, but our lips lock in desperation
both prisoners of the Devil but his masters all the same
to be woman and myth and exiled from grace means shadows
of Eden will draw spine-tingles from desert dreams, she
tests me, rests me, confesses to me, she is ablution,
corruption, my Terpsichore, my one vision of moon maiden
and we dance in a grove in Hell that is sick with roses
bend and turn until we are oblivion, Maiden and Mistress
her beneficence flows in equal measure with her cruelty
and when the orchestra in the reeds hums evening down
we embrace and thirst after tongues and poisoned saliva
I drink her milk and know the sweetness of Styx waters
Lilith is conundrum, the Source, the Deep, the Omega of
all men’s temptations, but she is my sister, so we fly
through Sephiroth up to the outer boundaries and nest
as Zu birds in a cradle in the branches, prey and hunter
find balance as Paradise’s breeze sways our dreams aloft
I am lost in the Queen of Hell, and her lap is my altar
I will praise her and curse her, and when she soars away
I will rage, I will rage, I will rage.