Necromancer
I would not have interfered
with your search for success,
which never came by the way.
You practiced pre-designed dialogues
with lips locked around
slippery communications like salvation.
Magically manipulated appearances
in an obsessive competition
for control. Secrecy or Sorcery;
whatever worked for you.
Tearing and tapping the vein.
Positively ripe with omnipotence.
A spectrum of sensation
meant to jolt your ego to orgasm.
You gleaned esoteric information
like scaling a fish,
solely for personal interest.
Entering the sphere of undead,
your supplicant servants of conditioned response
enjoyed a strictly platonic union with your soul.
You are you’re own religion, after all.
Ó 1998 Maryann Hazen