Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Contradiction in Witch City

They react now to the witches cackle
And draw back from the human tallow 
In the costume shop behind the candles.
The majick spoken here is black,
The ghost of old Nat Hawthorne can't compete
With the delirium of occupation
400 years too late, a float thrown just in time
For voodoo binding, sacrificial knives, 
Rh negative brains in jars,
The commodification of mysteries
Only believed by the initiates
Who hide their eyes in robes for decades, 
Some say centuries, as they memorize
The incantations passed down by the martyrs
Just for them, who had come here from Turin 
And Abruzzi, Potsdam and Billerica
To ride the mushroom brooms across the sky
Through Noirvember purple and the grave sites
That emptied out their loads so long ago.

The ghosts float through the homes like lights
But no one gives them here the time of day,
Too much history has passed and been recorded
For a posterity very much alive in the idea
That there must be something more for them
Than a life that only transcends the rule
When the young wander past their stones 
In dreams of being ghouls.