One and the same are God and the Devil:
The God of Good is the God of Evil.

O.O

The moon tonight doth wear a shroud
    Of crimson-orange ether,
And seems a pumpkin with flight endow'd,
    Nor with a rooted tether.

The night is warm; the breeze doth loll
    Upon the shadow's creeping;
And autumn very soon will fall,
    And bring with it more sleeping.

                              August 29, 2015

O.O

I crack my knuckles: nor any pleasure lingers.
I’d rather break your hand and all its fingers.

O.O

My snow-globe is more rare than rare,—
A strange antique most singular:
Crafted by one in magick skill’d,
Its contents cannot e’er be spill’d.
It started as a crystal ball
Enchanted and invincible.
A snowman now doth dwell therein,
Blasphemous, foul, and wicked as sin.
He only dons a scarf and sneer,
This angry, deviled, little dear.
He bears within the globe alone
An endless blizzard’s blast and moan.
The little thing is largely mean:
He rages still and gluts his spleen.
He rages while the storm doth blow
Alike the thunder in the snow.

O.O

**** me off?  You really shouldn't.
If I were you, my friend, I wouldn't,
Since I would make it then my goal
To chain you up and ****** your soul.

O.O

Tonight the poltergeists will come
    And rip you out of bed,
And pound your walls, and drum your door,
    And hammer in your head,
And leave you writhing still alive,
    Though rather you'd be dead.

But fear not these; they merely prank;
    Instead the demon fear
That frightens away the poltergeists
    Whene'er it doth appear,
And screams a scream that makes to bleed
     A stream each mangled ear.

It comes for you, your soul to possess;
    And I do sadly tell,
You have no chance yourself to save;
    So, sleep, and sleep you well—
Enjoy another tender dream
    Before you're dragged to Hell.

O.O

Arise, arise, my ugly friends;
   Arise, and bring a cup!
I've got for you some witch's brew:
   Come out, and drink it up!

Come swim with me the river of dreams,
   Where poisonous flowers bloom:
Come on, get high: climb up the sky:
   Get higher than high on "the broom".

A lesser man can **** his can,
   His bottle, or his blood;
But me? I need the weedy mead:
   All other spirits are mud.

And those who know, they know it so:
   No other brew will do;
So be my guest and get possessed
   On my homemade witch's brew!

O.O

How sweet it is to deep into the night
   Let percolate your dreams in dripping beads
Of glowingly inebriate delight
   Distilled from gurgling rills of amber meads,
And then in threads of starlight finely spun—  
   All witched by frozen moonlight, pitched in black—
Suspend your limbs (made heavy by the run
   Of daily cares), and lay relaxed and slack
Till, saturate with drowsiness, and high
   Within a space of jewels and gems and jet,
You fall into the black hole's empty eye,
   And all the world and all yourself forget.
How sweet it is to all your life forsake,
Forgetting you had ever been awake.

O.O

Since I would rather take
    A chainsaw to the gut
Than have my heart to break,
    Instead, Love, bust my nut.

O.O