Necromancer

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Necromancer
Open the door to the obsidian.
I am the man with a long mind,
with a jar full of souls.

As if we were inside the crossroads,
with the ankh in one hand and a pistol in the other.
That man in the black feathers.

I sit in the void next to that hammer,
watching that face with no eyes.
I ‘m gazing into the dawn.

Follow me if you dare,
into his trumpet, like “Bitch’s Brew.”
Endangered.

I can still feel the drums,
As if I were born in the absence of time,
the star child.

The “tru-story” of the walking dead,
from outer space
and the hound in the night.