Demonizing the Exorcists

          Fibonacci in the knees
a little over a week
ago a broad called, knowing
she could count on me, a storm’s
cloud of a dependable
          controversy, a menace
          conducting symphonies of
          lightning when I found her lips
          and my own silenced, by some
          evocation invited

                                                            existence’s synchronous
                                                  cysts popped, coincidences
                                                  boiling from the mundane its
                                                  outward appearance of mere
                                                  insignificance, hidden
                                                            meaning conceding to us
                                                            yet another reason to
                                                            convene, reading patterns in
                                                            her pores, codes in poets’ prose
                                                            postponed miracles greenlit
                                                  to re-emerge, having spied
                                                  call-signs in constellations
                                                  I felt more bothered than at
                                                  all honoured when oracles
                                                            consulted me, my knowledge

          talked of by wayward angels
promising them a glimpse of
an apocalypse none could
guarantee, radioing
in on fallen stars as if
          in their gullibility
          deities profaned by myth’s
          gluttonous divinity
          (those pigs withholding our names)
          would keep from knowing how to

                                                            control us, those whose command
                                                  of the unseen still bleeds from
                                                  dolorous honeycomb its
                                                  mournful bees, persuading them
                                                  with ease to relinquish at
                                                            once the keys to Creation’s
                                                            mystery, how their stinging
                                                            sweetness kills them but somehow
                                                            increases a forbidden
                                                            flower’s fragrance, we, like those
                                                  beasts, after centuries of
                                                  sleep, woke, however nervous
                                                  to meet, and in a garden
                                                  abuzz with fellow tourists
                                                            we fell not in love but deep

                                                            below notice, having both
                                                  resurfaced only to sink
                                                  again, she said we needed
                                                  hosts, so fleeing our desert
                                                  seeking water and vessels
                                                            above, whispering offers
                                                            to them with such seemingly
                                                            anomalous precision
                                                            we possessed the descendants
                                                            of those men who had condemned
                                                  us to this hell, wandering
                                                  soulless in this loneliness
                                                  compelling us, with its blunt
                                                  knives, to unleash chaos and
                                                            demonize the exorcists.