From the Black Book
In Rome the ancients roused me in my bed,
pouring whispers in both ears.
Angel dark words churning.
All the tales and incantations,
secrets and sorrows rising, rising
Armies of blood.
transforming greed into history - metallic and bitter.
Then, a cock, crowing three times.
A thorny crown mocking.
Another alchemy carving icon into icon,
halo, headdress, woven vestments of gossamer gold.
Keys and gates, who's in, who's out.
Crossing, bowing, stumbling into the centuries.