Righteous Oh, for a metaphor of fire, Unrestrained, unbound, A self-contained chaos Of heat-distorted spikes And incandescent blades To excoriate the thin, Rotting skin of civility From the body politic And shred its lying heart. It beats with the pulse Of prevarication’s spite, Born of smallish ego’s Outsized awareness Of insignificance, laying Wait for the disaffected, lamenting The unacknowledged Messianic quality of their “If only…” The toxic cocktail Of individualism, Fusion of Man, God, and Profit, Acted by Ego, Anger, and Greed, Lived as Impotence, Fear, and Longing, Eagerly quaffed in low life Dives of excess and failed humanity, Poisons the milk of human kindness, Feeds the heart of hate With ego-dreams of the unnoticeable. Upon the spires of truth and judgement, Arrayed in forested ranks Are gnarled and writhing Objets de justice A recursive Robespierran fantasy Where judge becomes judged Becomes judge once more Only to be judged. And before judgement and truth, Between judge and judged, Humanity slips away, Fades to objects of gray Indistinguishable, one from another. Individuality, a bitter sameness, The fetish of uniform uniqueness. * * *
Mother’s Day Was the tree so vile, poisoned fruit, Serpent twining along branch points, That the gift of knowledge felled Man? Or the blood of Woman, fear’d, loath’d, Incomprehensible to Man Denied power of creation, Vilified the body of life, Slandered as enslaved to slithering Phallus, forcing focus on the Penetrative male capacity? Thought and emotion, a greater war Than good and evil ever were, Contend within such mental space As bone and blood can encase. Cold disregard sparks hot with perception On these battlelines, drawn by evolution, Pitting brain against itself. Collateral damage, unthought Consequence of chthonic force, Lays waste to human souls. Deep within the unperceived, the Demon-haunted expanse of Freud’s domain, flow currents beyond Knowing, beyond controlling. So chagrined the heart of Man, lost To the unnamed need for dominion. Land and life, he must possess. Woman and child, his chattels fessed. Knowledge and artifice, service his Will to control a world. Lacking creation, power must suffice. Lilith’s defiance rained hard Upon the parched plains of Eden, Lifting up the Tree of Knowledge from The humble seed of potential. Midwife to his creative Capacity, the feminine Attends the birth of Man. Alone, he devours his soul. * * *
Morning When I wake, joy in his eyes beside me, The simple touch of his hand When I ache, his naked arms around me, The grounding feel of his skin When I sorrow, his tears fall for me, The mingled salt in our kiss When I sleep, his vigilance guards me, The gentle hand upon my chest When I dream, his desire enfolds me, The slick sweat between us When I wake, his dream fades, The cold emptiness beside me
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