The day of reckoning has come.
Dark stars and the dark moon conjoin the force of ravens and of crows under the signature of double blinks. Algorab makes its pronouncements:
‘Today we’ll cook some souls with the poetry of darkness.’
‘We find some liars, gossipers, and hypocrites and take them out of circulation.’
‘Bring me burdock. Adorn yourself with onyx, and don the longest black dress that you have.’
My seething silence matches the command.
The voice of cowards fills my frontal vision, their public proclamations resounding loudly in my ears: ‘We have so much to share, but not in public,’ the cowards herald in public, asking for DMs and PMs and other ‘friendly’ chats. Gossipers and rumor-makers know their devotion to the cheap trick of seduction by suggestion: ‘Oh, we know so much about such and such.’ The masses flock to them, being devoted to the truth that only gossipers can grasp. Liars know exactly as much as they invent, their pitcher going to the waters all by itself. But only so many times before its pride is broken, shattered to pieces by the meanest rays of a malefic sun. The Romanian proverb says. According to the astronomical odds of magical elections. As in, today is the day. Of reckoning.
The man in black, the other name that Algorab prefers, is ready for some pecking and some pluck. My ink as black as that of a cauldron drips on paper that’s sealed with thorns, looking for the words: ‘thy will be done.’
The postman rings the bell, another magic rattle. A package is delivered from ‘Yes Chef’ supporting the black magic on my table. Black dishes in the shape of the dark moon are brought to me, courtesy of the descendants of warriors. The Samurai of Edo at my command: ‘Yes Chef. Thy will be done.’
I stuff myself with watermelon. I spit out the black seeds as if they were Cornelius Agrippa’s enemies in the shape of the malice of men, devils, and winds. I think of nothing except poetry and the sound the crows make after they’ve feasted on the ones they were after.
The words of magic for revenge are ‘after you.’
This text is part of a forthcoming collection of poems, After You, on the poetics of magic and the everyday encounter with the extraordinary.