When I was young I loved Lucifer,

that red gold morning star. I adored

the glinting immovability in his eyes,

the bone sharpness of his teeth.

What John Wayne was to you,

the devil was to me:

perfection, in a nutshell –

so he is, and was –

trapped, frozen,

too willful for permission or permeation

from a world whose living breath

is God.

Intransigent and intransient,

he would rather be consumer and consummation incarnate

than the artery and artillery of Heaven.

Once inspired, he aspired to the throne of God,

now dispirited, he will not respire again;

he would rather expire than conspire

with the will of God.