Every faith has its saints, its sinners, its fallen angels…sometimes all in the same soul.

For Jim

Balanced here flawlessly

between soil and Sol, I prove myself divine;

I am thunder, dragon, lion —

and for me, millions of women

scream and throw themselves to be sacrificed

under the great blade —

old crones and vibrant mothers,

fresh maidens and babes yet unborn

when I shed my flesh and

walked through the gates in the west

to become one with the music,

which transcends all things material

and lives in the minds and hearts and souls

of the listeners forever.

As dragon, I am immortal:

sever a limb or tail

or even my head and I shall

renew it, renew it as the rain

renews the earth after the storm

has passed, after the music

that can be heard in the thunder

swells to fill the air.

I am the King:

I can do anything.

I stand before the gates just before dawn,

in that moment that is neither night nor day:

I stand and await the sunrise,

wait for the light of the new day to bathe my skin,

for the warmth to dry my mane now that the storm has passed,

and I take no notice of petty mortal things

that seek to hinder me.

I am the King:

I can do anything.

Listen: hear my song!

Listen: let it bring you closer to me,

let it open the choked and cluttered corridors of your mind,

and open the doors to let your sight fly free.

Listen: let it draw you into my embrace,

let me feel your heart thunder against my chest

as my arms enclose you,

and let my kiss set you free.

I am the King:

I can do anything.

There is a wall, and it stands between you and I;

between day and night, between sun and shadow,

between the warmth of pleasure and the chill of death.

It stands between all opposites — summer and winter,

dawn and dusk, yes and no,

and in order to come to me,

to come, to join me,

you must break through that wall,

beat your fists against it, strike out at it with all the

ferocity and passion in you,

and break through it.

I am the King: I can do anything.

And I entreat you: come to me.

Break through.

I am the music; I am the song;

I am the melody that fires your blood,

the rhythm of your heart,

the words that haunt your dreams and

fill your mind in waking and sleeping, both.

And the music is alive: the music calls to you,

wanting you as much as you want to join it,

and neither all the stars in the night sky

nor all the grains of sand upon every beach

are greater in number than the promises

that the music will longingly whisper to you.

That I will whisper to you:

I am the King:

I can do anything.

I am here: run your fingers through my hair,

run your hands over my shoulders and

the planes of my chest,

feel the warmth of my skin and my breath,

hear the thrum of my heartbeat under your ear,

the touch of my lips on yours,

and know: I am your music, and you are mine.

I will sing to you, and I will sing of you,

and I will sing you,

and you will sing me in return,

and the twin songs will blend,

and become one in melodic counterpoint.

Do not think that this is beyond me:

the mask that I once wore is an old one

and was a new one,

and there is more to me than

earth and sun,

music and lust and dream,

dragon and thunder and lion.

I am the King:

I can do anything.

My magic is in the music:

my soul is in the music,

and my music is for you.

Dragon: lion: thunder:

and all for you.

With the thunder comes the fire,

and the fire burns brighter than the sun:

bright enough to burn all lesser lights

from your eyes.

As the lion, I must roar,

and that roar is so loud as to drown out

all other sounds (songs) you might hear.

For the dragon, there is nothing

but the glitter of gold (which is not so golden as the shine of the sun on your skin),

the brightness of gems (but not so bright as your eyes),

and the softness of sweet flesh

under his tongue.

Every song has a beginning.

Every song has an ending.

Listen as long as you will, but

eventually that special friend will find its end,

and when the song has ended,

the time comes when the lights must go out.

Do not let this stop you

from dancing in the darkness

to the memory of the song.

The darkness, too, has an ending.

I am here for you, who listens;

I am here for you, who longs for the song;

I am the Dragon, and I will not devour

the maiden sacrifice unless she asks it;

I am the Thunder, but the fire of the lightning

that comes with the storm will not burn

the storm-dancer unless she asks it;

I am the Lion, but my roar is silenced

in your presence, my lioness, and together

we will run and hunt and feed and fuck,

as nature intended.

Want this: want me.

What might dragon and thunder and lion

not conjure, given enough desire?

Tulpa; egregore; artificial incubus conjured by yearning

to haunt your dreams with the music

and wrap my arms around you while you sleep

and whisper in your ears while your eyes are closed

and let you think

let you know

let you believe

that you are beautiful

that you are desired

that you are loved

and let no one tell you

that you are a fool

for so desperately wishing

for even one second

that it might be true.

I am the King:

I can do anything.