"What Magic Is" - Justin Patrick Moore

"What Magic Is" - Justin Patrick Moore    

Magic burns somewhere
between phosphorous and philosophy
it churns the midnight soil
after hopping the cemetery wall.

“Dig this,” it says
pointing to an unmarked grave.
Magic wasn’t made
to be an energy slave
whim of yours to hire
black lace and red light
for the convenience of your desire.

Sometimes it is a thirst
slaked by snagging you into the coals
a wild mare giving birth to foals
the snare is, its out of your control.

Who lights this match now smells the sulfur
it doesn’t demand you be pure
but is a catalytic converter of events.

Sometimes it is better not to know.
What is it I am doing? What is it all for?
The horizon is a door.

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