Hail Cheesecake, Master of Our Clouded Futures!

Ye olde Soothesayers who sit boothed in Jersey diners,

Ye mystics of the cole-slaw truths

of club sandwich Rudolph Steiners,

Though Germanic Gods are dead and gone

occultist dreams can yet live on

In bathroom stalls and Tinton Falls,

the alters still exist;

the midnight glow

of candlelight shows

those secret ritualists;

The Anglo-Saxon dirty napkin

of Medieval Olde-Norse runes;

A greasy cup of coffee flood

and a rising orange Moon;

add two drops of Dragon’s blood

to the house soup or Caesar salad,

Rub the magik stone and chant

That evil alma mater.

oyster crackers Mythos calls you soul to pickle,

Linoleum divination

Reveals another jukebox-nickle…

The Gothic inscriptions carved

within ye all

Lie scratched upon

thine dessert case wall;

So follow me to see what is or what may be

ye draconian pupils of Merlin

to have a taste of deep-fried Destiny

on the road back to Carthage or East Orange,

for Guido von List

may yet persist

in a waitresses kiss

in a drainage ditch

that reeks of piss

or some parking lot abyss

off Route 46;

What I’m trying to say is this;

Magic is everywhere

and A cannoli is

my only holy

scroll.