Neo-Pagan Triple Goddess.
Teleporting essential form
from invariant sources.
Pentagram candle formations
on a line-diagram,
placed inside a hexagram,
surrounded by regular star polygons.
Incense filled chambers.
Practices and rituals,
connected on a cyclic path,
creating
incomprehensible chants.
Noise tunnels.
Trance-like states.
Burning skin sensations.
The properties of these things
ensue their substance.
I am a compound
of good quicksilver
and evil brimstone.
I am blood-cleanser to some,
Blood-sucker to others.
I break the eggshell.
Once the yolk is out,
I let green blood
from a vein
in my forehead.
I bleed enough
to fill the egg-shell.
I hold it up.
Each eye
reflects its own rainbow.
Then its form is destroyed
disappearing into the iris.
And creating massive colour
on a violet cloud
inside my head.
I devour red and yellow
to breathe orange.
I gather green.
Suck blue.
Spit indigo and violet.
Forty years before doom,
an absence of rainbows.
Pure Darkness,
Black Sun odyssey
shining on a world of
shaved Rapunzels.
I breathe in
the different states
through which things pass
until they become perfect.
I am stealing erotic secrets.
Jumping over shadows.
Combusting into a mode of improvisation.
There is thickness in the air,
double vapor.
Constrained on every side,
a storm of full strong winds
breaks the cloud,
creating thunder, fire and flame.
Then
I the lucid maidservant lead
five husbands to the altar.
The ceremony
in a makeshift temple
full of ramshackle icons.
There I stand
with a gun strapped to my thigh.
Multiple holes in my memory.
Skipping alternate voices in my mouth.
My message is non verbal.
Each husband like
a coloured-in stick figure,
making jigsaws in his mind.
He is becoming un-neutral.
He feels
he is about to be robbed.
He feels
his soul is being distributed at crossroads
to evil spirits of low rank.
And time is burning.
It is his kind to change sex,
Mine too.
And it is said
that if both our skins
be hanged together,
the hair of the male skin
shall fall away.
By night
in spring time,
Oysters open
to receive dew.
Then the oyster
shuts its shell
holding the dew
to feed its fat flesh.
I am enemy
to the oyster.
I spy and wait
till she opens.
Then I take a small stone,
and put it
between the shells,
so that she
may not close herself.
Naked and bare
I gather the oysters’ flesh,
and feed it to the peacock.
Look at his greedy mouth
fed with dew of heaven.
I extract his secrets
so that I can spy
and show the way to strangers.
The peacock spreads his long green tail
adorned with eyes
to face the sun
so that they shine
more brilliantly,
and he curves his tail
to throw shadows on his body.
The peacock stares at me.
Wonderly shapen,
I have a right red head.
A full great mouth.
The outer limbs of a lion.
A scorpion’s tongue.
Hard nails
as hard as wild swine.
The voice of a trumpet.
Blue sapphires in my eyes.
None is more cruel,
with honey in my mouth.
Signs and tokens from the unknown.
Sublime treacherous entertainment.
The clarity of articulation.
The voice of blood.
I cry out,
because
I think beauty has been lost.
I have reached the end of the rainbow.
I am burning at the stake.
I see the likeness
of my own darkness
even though
I think of myself as
a symmetrical open curve
smiling
and washing in lukewarm vinegar.
