18/Rosary of Summer

Close your eyes, Belfagor:
Her face floats above the foliage of desire
her lips trembling magicians on the side

Close your eyes, Belfagor:
Her hands move about the leaves
for signs of the altar, Bacchus’s grapes:
She devours her flowers, easy preys
while her voice defines
the figure in the mist:
satyr original,
O what has been in tempestuous waking

Do not look at her closely, Belfagor:
her face in the mirror molts madly
bones glare in the sunblast
hair floats in the skies
thighs swim in rivers of secrecy
ears pricked to calls of cockatrice

She does not see you now, Belfagor:
She moves in eons of her solitude
She talks in grip of silence & craft
drawers locked, fingers crossed
heart frozen & limbs denounced
while spinning tales of daily argonauts:

Violate her mirror now, Belfagor:
See her, antlered doe, among the pillows
devouring dreams of grass rats & solitaire
strumming guitars, striking brass rings
licking her chops, then gently grinning:
O She is most evil when she is most sad

Crack the sphere glass about her, Belfagor:
Wrest her off Shiva’s spell, powerful earth—
Let her blaze in violent shower
of armless dolls & torn tarot cards
for savages strike bright bilious bells

Close your eyes, Belfagor:
O She is most evil when she is most sad

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