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Marie
Eat
For it is my pussy
Drink
For it is my blood.
Fingering Judas' cock beneath the table.
Do not sink into despair,
I will not sacrifice myself upon the altar
to save your life.
Sacrilege
Sacrilege was all they said
That I spoke as a woman with a man's heart
That I admitted to the idea that God is both, man and woman
That even Sappho saw God through the eyes of many people who deified him in their own image.
That I felt that sex is like breath
And the breath of winds are lovers teasing my skin
That God made the world in 6 days
Fucked Eve on the 7th and then created Adam
Because once you've had a woman you may want to taste a man
That nudity is not sex
That lies are those perpetrated by 1500 years of monasteries and abbeys where they balled each other and buried the fruits of their sin…
Fetus's strewned ,like crystal bones within the catacombs of Christ
That Constantine was a son of a bitch when he censored Jesus' words
to use the religion to subjugate the masses
That great warriors of the Roman and Greek campaigns fought together and lived as lovers.
That women have been men and men have been women.
That souls cross all dimensions and that we will know only what we can digest
That God is truth,fair, honorable and that they have bastardized his son's death.
That I am a soul trapped in a body caught like a butterfly in a spider's web.
That men are judged and ridiculed for the color of their skin and not by the content of their character
Because Egyptians knew that one day racism would exist having spoken to the Greeks who stole their truths and claimed them as their own.
Because Pushkin was proud
Because Hemingway knew
Because Rimbaud danced
Because the crucifix was used to pierce my maidenhead when I was but a babe.
They wear robes, the bloodstains are held by fibers of the million souls tortured under the benediction of the crusades and their church.
I am a temple…You are a temple. No one has a right to speak to God for us.
God is the flame that holds us each and everyone.
Sacrilege is what they have done with the teachings
Thank god for Kahlil Gibran he was the only one who really heard the words.
Live,Leave,Live
Why can't I just leave
Live
Leave
Live
Go
Leap
Fuck! Just go
Ah, to be male, to love men and to be one….What freedom
I would cross deserts, smuggle Buddhist scrolls into Christian homes
The Koran would cross Egypt to land in Rome.
Bullets would be strung like rosary beads and sent to China.
Let them meditate on what they have done.
I would steal Tibet from them and land it in central Africa..
It could be safe there.
Madness would become my muse, and wrapped within this cloak
I would walk the dark forests of men's evil.
I would step into the tent and sit within the womb
To see all images as they unrolled the *Akashic records upon my feet.
Insania would cradle me and hush my cries away.
I would find firm footing upon the precipice.
I could leap into space and find firm footing.
* Akashic = Sanskrit word to describe the records of Human beings from beginning to eternity. A great library that holds every word, every thought and every act.
A Life Well Lived
But what makes life worth living?
Could it be the ancient myths of purple passions that speak to us?
Our bygone unconsciousness
The memory of battles well fought
Of death well done
Of women and men well loved
How can commuting
The act to place myself upon slaves' door to toil
For others, for causes that have no causes, create contentment?
How can I be expected to read Olympian words from the great poets and then supplicate my freedom upon the guillotine?
Where is the simplicity of wheat fields, of eating pears sitting on the fruit bearer?
Of sleeping on the moss covered floor of a forest.
My memories are full of what I was and what I can become..
I am feed by the promise of those veiled sunsets that once breathed fire into my lungs
I cannot see the abyss, a black hole that sinks into an eternity of what ifs.
How can anyone know what a well-lived life is? Who has lived one?
For him who has… let him cast the first stone.
Pummel me with the force of your victory.
I wander the desert of uncertainty seeking the solace of an Oasis that may never be.
Where is the one whose life has been well lived? I need to hear your voice.
Speak for I am weary…
My mind wants to slip into the cement sidewalk to spill out into the sewer far out into the sea.
Speak, I need to hear your voice.
Come to me, hold my heart in your hands it weeps from the knowing of what I can no longer do with a full conscious.
It's Classic Merde
It's classical shit to me
These lyrical poems buried deep in metaphors.
It makes me understand why no one reads poetry anymore.
Poets so grandiose in their education they obscure the most basic passions
Or the poets that are so simple that the words should be needlepoint's on pillows
donated to the mental homeless.
Where are the passionate ones who once roamed earth?
Where are your new words?
Why have they created poetic societies?
Is it to strangle talent's voice?
I want to hear the nude words of a madman.
The wild weepings of a strange child
I want the winds of change to promise destruction.
I want the words to copulate in sin.
The cum of invention to stain my hands.
The demented nightmares to seer my brain.
I want poetry to be the whore she was created to be.
I want poetry to be the whore she was meant to be.