Poetry[oTFv#19] — 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,
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.
