twelfthhathor

Upon him
they lean, three crones and
a drone. I marvel at their teeth, hollow
and stained down
the eons. They fall to their
feast, wailing wailing
it should have been us.
Yes. But it never
is. Heaven regurgitates
tainted meat.

In Tartarus the Host lie
spreadeagled, chained beneath
the blacktop where the schoolgirls
hopscotch. Missies toss
the knucklebones, chant
up their dream groom: Mama, Mama, make
me a HOG.
Handsome
Obedient
Generous.

In the Circumstraint my charge writhes and
howls, the good old
days back again always. His tender
stub draws a futile arc
in the air. His staff is on
fire, dripping red sweat, mercury
falling, edges beveled and
alive. This is the stone
that weeps. See the shiny
water rain daylight.
We call
earth to witness:
I cast out betrayal, we choke.
I cast out vengeance, we gag.
I cast in the outcast.

On the Twelfth of Hathor we stand
beneath the Mount
at Dudael, the piled stones
crimson and slick. I roll up my eyelids
and sleeves, raise Israel's rod, it's tip
a peacock's tail, dripping sonblood.
My charge vowed
never to return, but finds himself
spellbound as ever. Instead of Wise Men
he got butchers. He
is eight days old.

On the Twelfth of Hathor the pit
spreads to us, when enough bloody
tears crack
the egg. At the bottom
of Tartarus I stand on my corpse. I dance, spinning, dead drunken, the eyes of the
Lost bright in the shadows. Hail, Hecate!
I call. Hail Omphalos Jones! Greetings,
Host fallen. As Abraham�s hand
was stayed, so forever
is the blade
of Set.
From this day of nights, the Goat
is released.

I spit on the stones at her feet, and the
old forge sputters. Then I run
like hell.

I get off my knees, erase the dirt circle with
my crutch. Oh my aching
back. Now I must
hobble on, cursing my love
for dear life.

We are poor little lambs who have
lost our way I begin
to sing, and open
burst the doors of the dead.

From between my shoulderblades I draw
the staff, trace his arc
in the dirt. My head is aflame. Red sweat bubbles
out pores, builds a silver shimmerpool at
my feet, mercury rising, edges
beveled and alive. On bended knee I call
the earth to witness.

On the Twelfth of Hathor my charge rises
from sleep screaming. Set�s knife capers before him, the
three hags floating behind. Their masks
are sterile, mouths septic, chanting
low oaths of protection. Ah yes, I smile, so many Protectors
of children in this land.

On the Twelfth of Hathor we
fall, journey to Tartarus
under Set�s knife. Athame
is its name, hoof
for a handle, thirsty old
flint. Beneath jagged
stones beneath
mountains we are cast, forty thousand years bound
in the Circumstraint. Set�s blade sparkles
and my charge thrashes, and at last the shrieking boys plaguing my sleep make sense. In agony
and wrath I spread my arms, and
their weapon
clatters away. Then I seize these healers.

Screeching, I soar with my prize, a nighthawk
above the towered cities, black ray of
Ra, my beating wings blessed
terror. Into shock they pass. I drag them to a ledge overlooking
the Pacific, crack
their walnut hearts with
a word. I peer, cocking
my head side to side.
Their innards: Naught but power,
occult power astink, all the sweeter for
seeming not. Board-certified shank, doc�s cock hard, hag thighs slick
anticipation. From their entrails I pick the
family history: old tail-biter, the daughters as bait, the Host imprisoned. Then
the long nightmare of days. Hewn testicles dangling
from stepuncle�s girdle
pouch. Life sacred, some more than others.
Finally brother eyes escaped
to sky. Al-El, Gilgamesh, Abraham,
Horus, Odysseus, Baptist John, the Nazarene. Sonblood saved
and sanctified, held aloft and blessed by solar winds, carried a�belly, far above
Earth�s nostrils.

The knife descends. The dark side of the moon slingshots us back
into harness. I dive into the silver
shimmerpool, mercury
rising, edges beveled
and alive.
I call mater's addiction
to task, such an uninspired choice of
deformities. Lathe them to fit
while defenseless. Fully deniable
brutality, relayed from San Clemente
to the Maritimes, broken flesh on call
to move mountains, man battlestations, lay
tar, eat asbestos, slip on
the necktie and ring.