the witches brew is a boiling

Noxious fumes fill the air of my laboratory
My experiments in black magic finding fruition in a caste iron cauldron

my mystical chants drew the toads foot from thin air
words  in my mind enough to manifest the ingrediants
until I realize the words themselves are the mystery
the objects imbued only by the magic inside of me

too many cooks in the kitchen tossing shit in
has rendered the spell ineffectively/cracked, broken, chaotic magic takes over
no one controls enough of the spell to master the gathering of illogic/dysfunction/disease/be-witchery

we use what is left to throw out cloaking spells to hide ourselves from those who stone witches

a warlock or a Christ or a poet or a god-like alien or an angel or . . .
feel like merely a seeker
for that which is never found
only offered
by a distant, unintelligible God
who speaks only the  word love
 and knows we understand another day
awaits patiently in timeless perfection/where all is happening at once
our linear time making minds are mere functions of the flesh
the link between our thinking

 and the seasons

 the ghosts are dancing joyously around me
declaring the Arrival of my Peace

I try to explain to them that i cannot control the spell and they laugh
telling me YOU WILL YOU WILL