Posted: June 5, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , ,

Old enough to know better and ten steps closer to hell I cast my runes of bone across a pentagram to set the spirits free
They rattle over the mahogany table and their rattle calls out to the spirit world
My head fills with spinning dervishes of dust as I contemplate a wicked craft and voices of the dead whisper incessantly: half remembered bits of memory and spun and used to new use,
I intone an Aramaic incantation over the runes invoking a thousand unclean spirits and they stir in the spirit world and dance to my tune
There is a knock at the door
I open it and there is no-one there
A form gradually coalesces over the top of the table: white, translucent, full of holes, whispery smoke.
The etheric spirit breath swirls around the table as a mouth begins to form in the figure
A deep, sepulchral, flesh-shredding voice yells from the most festering dank pit of hell: ‘Who has awakened me from my sleep?’
The phantom knows my name it says, for it comes straight from the talons of Beelzebub
For all the ghosts and phantoms are possessed, the dead possessed by Satan’s minions
Demons and demon spawn yelping madness, suicide and death into the ears of the vulnerable pea strained souls who lurk in the world
My flesh shrinks into my bones and my pupils open up like bottomless pits
I hold the spirit in my power, it cannot eat my soul, it twists and jerks against the magic chains
‘Tell me spirit, does God watch us now?’
The spirit replies, ‘ God watches us all and he laughs at every instant of happening.’
I start to feel guilty about breaking the command against necromancy so I bid the spirit to leave and it departs, saying ‘Learn that you are mortal, son of Adam’.
Then there is silence- the spirit is gone- I am left with a frazzled, blow-dried brain
I pack a cone and feel guilty for having indulged in sorcery.


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