Constellating This Mess of Stardust

Once we conjure powers into our human vessel that were never meant to fill it, then the cup must carry the burden.


Attacked by the power of my own
conjuring, toward hurt to thwart yours
my mantra’s current reverbs with words
its worsening repetition curbs,


transforms your cathedral of ego
as it rises from virgin forests
with breaths of mist, those extravagant
sorrows whispers out so that pain might


dissolve into pores thirsting for dirt,
bothersome gossip some performance
of some god’s imperfect storm might halt,
if not stop, from being swallowed and


applauded by thieving witnesses
unworthy of its gift, sonorous
theft, this cup filling up with pieces
constellating this mess of stardust


lest chaos beget an audience
and sip, with lips its liquor singes,
guiltless glimpses of eternities
glittering until, instead of burst,


enlightenments burn and fizzle, sparks
preferring to obscure entropy’s
miseries being discovered by
editors of time’s lines your lies ride


beneath weakened flesh, under wet skin
sweat drenches and needles ply their strength
of temptation against, so that might
arrive some estimate of life left


when, miserable, you realize
death’s initial pinch was my kiss pressed,
with more remorse than yours was, onto
his warrant we sealed for each other


last summer when we even bothered
to take new lovers, all the while our
hearts conscious of their hours they stopped them,
those replacements this bitterness with


blinking whips of lashes and shaken
heads tortured in sight of rolling eyes,
disposed of, did away with, after
nights beaten off hard by rising suns


envious and deprived, by darkness
taken in, in better light we might
have survived but, under this lens, our
stars’ intensity magnified faults


neither of us in ritual trenched
could deny demanded sacrifice,
and thus afflicted, in difficult
positions worst aspects depicted,


my left hand ventured first to pick up
the knife by its black handle and drive
within your lamen of sacred signs
the division dividing two lives.

1Frater Acher, “Chapter Two: Cyprian of Two Worlds: A Priest of Good or Evil? The Grimoire of Cyprian: A Coptic Erotic Love Spell: Conclusion” of Cyprian of Antioch: A Mage of Many Faces, published at London by Quareia Publishing UK in 2017; page 120.