Late in the game, an inscribed stone unearthed, its hymn
written of the basilisk born outside the skin
of time. The cock
crows & so we steal
toward the figure kneeling in baptism or benediction, crown
askew, robe open,
runes carved into chest as a ward or charm.
Second time is the charm,
his crocodile tears a sort of hymn
to Abraxas who knows of lack & yet shall open
the heavens as easily as peeling skin
from a grape. As the
crow’s
flown round, reeling in place when steel
so shall even the archons come to harm.
Scepter or sword absolve no one, only the crown
pushed forth shrieking on the battlefield: caul washed from
him
leaving a trove of emeralds once we skin
his feathered little torso, flay & open
the still-beating heart.
Scrawl the covenant, O pen
of the capillary; render nerves to steel,
stone my heart & sting my skin
with thine goggling eyes. Charm
the snake of the spine, tap him,
her, him, her, duck, duck, crown
of thorns; a stack of black crayons
on the table papered for grim repast. Open
the bloodwine casks, let him
begin the dread toast.
Still
& cold sit the many guests, charm
-éd by the glamor of Abraxas’ kin.
Fill the skins
of sable angel leather; wear their crowns
of gold for bangles; their charms
& portents, open
the steel
gates to their croaking hymns
gates to their croaking hymns
& Fibonacci-frenzied skin, open
fire O horn-crowned steel-footed
Abraxas: hymn-harmed & many eyed.
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