I can hear him laughing from his grave,
he found a way to take back the cabin.
He sent an emissary from Hell
to conspire,
a ***** Demon riding on the same fiery wind
the Hells Angels fly upon.

God called him home,
I can hear the violence in the house of the Lord.
He refused to go through the gates,
Instead, sailed into the flames,
swan diving into the raucous-
heat, sweat, blood, and laughter.

A throne awaited him.
While he sat in the high backed seat,
gorging on the sights of sensuous agony,
red devils dancing like gypsies upon his lap,
he laid his plan. He sent a dark messenger
to whisper in the ear of the demon soldier,
animating his eyes until he found me.

Out to plunder me. Devour me.
Trap me. Convince me. Surround me.
Bait me. Test me. Sample me.

How many of them were there? How long
had they been watching me?
Sniffing me, digging around,
until they heard the words "the cabin".  

The ***** Demon had the job of waiting.
Of seducing, tempting, arousing, convincing.
And steadily, with solid consistency, with daily reliability,
like the morning train into work,
like a husband who comes home every night,
he sent lyrical promises,
called me "baby",
kept me swooning with his stillborn smile.

Even when I knew he was a lie,
like a fiend scratching the street
for a dollar to buy a hit,
a gambler who can not quit,
I kept asking the sky, "what if he is real?"

But he wasn't, he was sent,
by the other who would not rest,
until he wrestled from my grip,
the cabin.