Over a Cup

A mere leanness of the soul, we know we can be better.
We are, to a different flame, burned up by terrible things,
seeds scattered by hand, sacrifices made of the dead.
The cold anger of him, a snare, a whoring of the
women under open hands, and the light ought to be red.
The candle pink, better yet, as, these acts gather
force around me at all times, at will, the spell is magic,
Even though I knew better, I was a part. Even though
I knew nettle, saffron, licorice, rhubarb, rosemary
chickweed, clover. Even though I knew, I went there,
far from the hand of him I was there. And the waters,
the molten image of him, far from the good sea
on which I have drawn in many demon figures.
Write his name in a circle. Hold it over the cup:
Him Born, Him Born, Him Born, Him Born.
Here. Hold the sea under the cup, Men are
unmanageable targets. The lamp is lit
and the wormwood seeds are cast on top until
the seventh wick flickers Nettle, saffron, licorice,
rhubarb. Of this spell: nettle, saffron, licorice,
rhubarb. On this day. Of this hour, quicky, immediately,
rapid now. Over the cup, a daily cup, everlasting,
the outlasting of this cup, drink it in, like a night we have
all known, many have known. Repeat the words,
the holy words, the godly words, seven times, following.
Find a good drinking cup; the owner ought to have used it:
rosemary, chickweed, clover. Even though I knew:
rosemary, chickweed, clover. The lamp was lit
seven times over. Over a cup, a good drinking cup,
a spell to say that the cows still graze on common land
The villagers share a common oven, granite dwellings
have a cross at the door to ward off the devil. Be it known,
we are dried up in its depths, the spell. This life. Even
though I knew better, I am part of this bruxa spell:
nettle, saffron, licorice, rosemary, chickweed, clover
The lamp is lit, and it ought to be red. The candle pink.