Monday, April 11, 2016

2016 6/30

(27.) RONOVE. - The Twenty-seventh Spirit is Ronove. He appeareth in the Form of a Monster. He teacheth the Art of Rhetoric very well and giveth Good Servants, Knowledge of Tongues, and Favours with Friends or Foes. He is a Marquis and Great Earl; and there be under his command 19 Legions of Spirits. His Seal is this, etc.

My house the dead house
the burned house on the weedy lot
black timbers shipwreck the mud
My book the dead book
pages brown with burst pipes
crawling with silverfish, with woodlice
ancient engines turn to dust
and scarecrow Christ rots in the dustmotes
of a locked house, windowless

my hand a dead hand
with black rimmed nails,
scarred, relentless
rough edged as a rasp, as a file
as a salt-eaten rocker panel

the widow's car, resting on it's axles
the dry-rotted foam of the upholstery
crawling with infant mice,
birds wheel in the open attic
flashlight glow of eyes in the lightening struck tree
the moon pooled in every leaf

My mouth a dead mouth
stuffed with gravedirt to bury you
with bent pulled nails, with tacks and woodscrews
dead tubes, transistors, flux and lead
my teeth are dead teeth
that break, and yellow, the gums drawn back
to the rotting bone, cutting torch and framing hammer

my black boots ring on your floor
leave grease wherever they go
hobnails and cinders, the calligraphy of all I have touched

In your dream I am a mouthless
giggle, a worm that swallows the sun
the rictus-grin of a drowned dog
black eyes of the rat in the trap
the cold weight of my touch
heavy as a malt sack, and cold
Like a bottomless pool of oil and gasoline
a cloud of gas in a crawlspace
a spark in a pile of rags

all my tools rust in locked dark

all the heralds of my homecoming

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