Sex can be salvation: once I finished
The Satanic Bible, that glorious mixture
of Freud and Nietzsche garnished with batwings,
I snapped up its sequel, The Satanic Rituals,
at the same bookstore in Salem, Mass.

I got as far as the instructions for the Black Mass.
There, with the forces of darkness gathering
around me in my bedroom (I swear I sensed some of them
reading over my shoulder) I read how the Sacrament
was to be celebrated on the body of a naked woman .

Of course, I didn’t have a naked woman;
and of course, if I did have a naked woman,
(miracles do happen) I wouldn’t bother
with some kitschy parody of Holy Communion.
I closed the book and read no further.