i. Anephezaton ^cha

Spitting spirits into vessels
     of brass, better tell those Babylonians not
          to let it crack, not to go back
               on that promise wise Solomon had all of them
                    bound by, his pact, better that this
                         venom serve out its sentence sitting at some lake’s
                              godless bottom, than erupting
                                   like a bubble of come dropped in a whore’s lap, sin
                                        flooding love’s drought with lust’s famine—
                                             what I write is what I attract, what I live what
                                                  my imagination fashions
                                                       my lines magic, Kamikaze commas causing
                                                            comets to crash, impregnating

ii. Tetragrammaton ^el

                                                            pauses with drama starry messengers above
                                                       throw out of heaven, disdaining
                                                  what words mortals below use to evoke them, those
                                             cursive shapes middle fingers trace
                                        sealing names in hours moonlight drips to wax, this is
                                   the infernal working by which
                              touring my interior world, its force buys me
                         cloven hooves and clenched fistfuls of
                    miracles, this selling of the soul neophytes
               haven’t yet any requisite
          skill or experience to attempt, infidel
     Arabic numerals astride
pompous Roman capitals, cultures clashing with

                                                            iii. Primeumaton ^mi

     literature’s sacrificial
weapons turned to ceremonial knives, lost arts
     carving initials on sigils
no ritual can surpass, symbols and wisdom
     no linguist can pronounce, this damned
manuscript’s grammar is what grimoires lack, this verse
     a blackened mirror where spirits
gather, its purpose to trap them, to counteract
     those who condemn him the sky sends
those demons by an unseen hand deemed unworthy
     of untying his sandals, by
this triangle enslaved, scandalized by their own
     reflections, by these signs vanquished.