Filling Egg Shells

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,


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.


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,


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


and washing in lukewarm vinegar.

Click to enlarge
Sound sculpture in Collaboration with Rui Chafes Steel 194x160x100cms, sound, 9.36 mins