[Poé] The outskirts of Babylon

And there it is. The grand city of Men and lesser
Gods, most hated and most incredible of dwells
Among the nine Market-pits of the external realms

And here you are, Ambusher-of-the-kings, lier-
-In-wait between two granite horns, Shell-of-dead-
Light, Barrow of barren Mistresses, forsaken Thains

Sprawling upon the sea, crawling under the hills,
Teeming with insane grace, o Marvelous Mayhem
Dipping into a sea of noisome wine, o Scroll unread

Thou welcomes them, despicable offspring of planes
Raising them in ways most thelemic: grey Angels,
Southerners-without-race, invisible doppelgängers

Merchants-of-dreams, Râkshâsas pagri-wearing
Swart Princes, spiky rogues of Tarantula League,
Sealed-off temple: Untouched Goddess or touchy Drake?

                        (I swear I know that smell!)

Drear urchins, golden dogs running from ex-golems
Efreets burning, hunting Succubae – alter-gyns, un-males
Scattered bodies– larvae, unfinished bio-businesses

They all decipher, then eat – my dear – thy flesh
Bruisin’ your lanes, ey breed ’n mate, grow sedition n’
Greed under your wing, haven o’ sexual relentlessness

Here I am. Leechcraft ‘twas my trade when I last left
Now I return a priest, scarred, seasoned and bleach’d
For in-between, God forgave me… ‘Till now I’ve been

Bartender, scientist – ethyl-brewing, quick-silver deals
– Alchemist, pretender – seducing elements n’ ladies
Cutthroat, I’ve been, a merry one! Then apprentice

Your guards glower askance at my forearm: tattoos,
Scars they don’t approve of – intricate drawings
Giving away the price I paid, ei “pact” as is ‘ey say

The trade, the swap, the lade, the deed, curse, kiss
I did accept. External ghylls are bound to heal
But never will the hidden blade, its laden fruit

Whatever! I bribe them anyway… Ey’ take the purse
By fright, not greed – clever choice, ‘ey remember
Some spinal chill choking some Templar still – spot on!

Swift curse, long death… Past em’ dark doors
Into the docks district – thy denizen, they love me not
Yet how sweet is your rebuke, my Flaw, my Fluke

Yes I can feel your scowling smile, a mean welcome
Yes, here I am, my lovely High Tumor of benign
World-ending – my most Hierophobic, malign, lover

In the Southern suburbs, spawn of our last affair
Forcing thy exquisite and bletcherous antechamber
Alma mater of all despise and perverse praise

Here I come again – in your outskirts – my Babylon

The outskirts of Babylon, 2016
images : (c) Daniel Dociu