the oracle and asmodeus

the prophet and the archangel part II


I

you spoke
and reality
swayed in its spackled conditioning
your face did not crack
if you knew,
oh soothsayer and player.

have you a palantir
that you are holding, dear?
apollo with your lyre at delphi,
sing to me of
stolen
babies
and my own desperation.

tribunal or funeral?
you stared into me and through me
cassandra or calliope?
I'm so sad you have gone,
that you are done and I was wrong.

I bet you are glad you escaped with your kaleidoscope
and training wheels in the basket.

but you didn't say anything.
you didn't see anything.
in the cell God hears your visions
and feels the pulsing thoughts of me
oh seer, see.
　

II　

and asmodeus,
oh wooer, woo
then turn that cheek
oh no
not you.

Our root grows
diseased bark and knotted scars
hang him upside down
rope and nails and blood to mud
add seed to the muck
and make your minions.

I've got a hacksaw
lying on your chest
running over puckered wounds.
I'd rather use needle and thread
and take you
to bed.

but you sought oracle and fool
a zealot dressed in wet velvet
I had a plan you couldn't see
no bargains mephistopheles

III

a lily grows from my left wrist and your right hip.