In a sneaky way
I liked to distrust him.
A between of daemon and man.

The fake guru. There was
a covert sign. I can find no name.
A delicate balance, of standing
in sun, shadowless, faceless.

The art of making a night
of riots with blood splattered roses.
This was magic.

The gullible falls, head on, carrying the cross.
A star crosses the moon.
A saint was born.