#12. The Savior Is Gone


Out of history completely, because She is

just another beast to exploit

to extinction.  The Gods care nothing for anything

grounded in impermanence grounded in dust, holding

the form of millions of atoms.  Even Artimes

has discarded every engorged breast scaling her

body, because modern medicine offered to make sure

she was healthy and they took her uterus instead.  She might be

the only God with a clue of what suffering truly is.  Her uncle Hades

had not known real suffering having reveled in the dark

his possession of fire.  There is so much good human imagery cast

by candles on the wall, some even urging in the dark the understanding

feeling of home is as close as the hand to pen.  Poseidon starts seeing his Giant

Oar fish washing up on shores where they should not

~~~~~~~be. Dead, his terrifying deepest water darlings dead.

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#8 Currently Untitled


Waving a glint reflection in the unnamed color

in Her iris, they call me Jezebel in the Age of Interwebs.  I am

the one                        here for dogs,                         for Untouchables. 

                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I am from

all the traditions and not a part of any.  I’m the ache

in the dawn eager to meet its day

transforming every aware person to a conduit of thought

and compulsion, until the dogs come for me. Poseidon

knew that he was facing a pure loving creature tortured

by the dying animal tied to her every

word like a string keeping her from sleep.  It was more

than he could take in among the sound of personal,

handheld devices.  The harder he looked for her

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Otherwise Known as the Dark Ages (5th Sonnet in Heroic Crown)


There is infinite meaning because a finite myth
just can’t understand. Her body floats from hour
glasses adding up meditation while sitting as a flower
that has grown, despite brackish waters, out of shit
humanity vomits on her nymph-ish form. Her voice
hung low in vibration, sounding to human ears as a sultry
hiss, Poseidon, you know I shall never materialize,
unless willed into existence. Speechless, he

just watches. Imagine, a God who can’t even paint to soak in
the magenta of shadows longing and she even gives him
the words. That’s why She refuses to be a God, she likes her
humanity during the Age of Humanity Forgetting Itself. She knows
she has to save herself. Poseidon doesn’t remember he only exists
because of stories written in verse, he can’t even recognize his maker.

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When a God is Born


It comes from an ineffable

longing, a desire for knowing,

and an intent

listening to make any sense of this.

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Confessions With a Stamped Coin


After we made love last

night, I woke up, you

in India, making love to someone

else.  An extravagant

belly-dancer, her body

majestic as the sequoias.

Not like mine.  Her belly was

made of sapphire & silk.  Mine is

like the women in the exercise videos

you asked if I watched,

one night.  I told

you I didn’t dance

anymore– I never sculpt

my body.  The belly-dance

entranced you, the romantic

swing of her hips.  She wrapped her

lotus flower hands

around where you feel.

I remember the Russian

spy I made love to.  He gave me

secrets while my pen etched

his name on an exposed portion

of my skin.  The ink washed away.

He never stayed long. Touching

your skin is nice. He would say.

I would spread out the sheet

with his hands guiding mine to

smooth over the wrinkles.

You must have been in love


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Grandmother’s Wisdom


Grandma visited one night

while she was dying.  Her body was

nothing.  Her eyes had not been

open in weeks.  She smoked too

many Viceroys while drinking

too much coffee.  That was

how she killed herself.  When she spoke

then, she said a silence. Explained

only as a ball of yarn when secured will

bounce.  If it’s not secured, it’ll

unravel, leaving a mess of knots.

Gram didn’t know how to knit.  Her

only craft was marking playing cards.

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The Fine Line of Beautiful Living


Walk out past the stacks, rows, aisles

of books, where memoirs of battles slowly gave way

to case histories of molestation and abuse.

—Larry Levis

Your grandest gestures remain

unnoticed.  You have

a hand which can part oceans,

but cannot save you from the desires

of men. Girl, you are to be useful

in moist ways.  They care nothing for

the goings on in that mind of yours.

Don’t even try to talk.  Unless

to advertise for sex or violence.

There is no God.  You are all

that you have, & that body may be able

to find you some bread to break.  You can

always obtain wine to drink.  You have

the right frame for that.  They like you

intoxicated.  Under their weight,

you imagine Kafka, become the Hunger

Artist.  Hungry to find any meaning

to the needless sufferings you are

so gifted to witness.  No man cares about

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