MAN-EATER

To whom do I owe the fear of undead?

I will evaporate to ghost, in time.

Release everything earthly and

Rove till raptures, in time.

 

My spirit needs evolution.

Black salt circles my

Butterfly-crossed legs.

Candles flicker long shadows,

So I flutter like a monarch.

 

To whom do I owe fear?

Celestial stones roost in my lap.

The third eye of Shiva wreathes me.

A rosary sleeps in a spiral

On my palm like glass grapes.

Crosses are nailed to the walls,

Upright like Jesus.

 

I compose my letter to a demon.

I greet him with his unspeakable name,

And sing incantations to float my wishes

With his only eligible stamp,

A personal pentacle of ash.

 

It bursts into a blaze.

The unvoiced demon rises in a plume

Of sable, suffocating smoke.

Swollen, orange eyes glow.

Rows of teeth divulge

Misaligned like roots of a senile tree.

 

I am not frightened,

I impale the gates to his soul

With my gaze.

Hold the weighted smoke of his face

And devour him whole.