Sunday, September 4, 2011

Hiss.

Soothsayer, poet, poet-
seer women, old with wrought iron hands.
Mother woman composed of oven biscuits
paisley print tapered dress.
Dancer woman with sheer skin trinkets
jangle woman dancer, sin eater
she beats her legs together, wasps wings
her body hums harmonic Dharma,
electronic meditation woman
with cool summer breasts, she is grassy woman of soot,
a holy woman hands of salt cohesive and granular
the pathway to her mouth was curse-encoded
with mulberry beads, emerald gems, stones, sand tabletops for weekend sacrifice.
Who is she, banchee woman that screams, belts her prayers in the night.
She is pregnant bellied Shiva, corpses of powder, skull washing bowls
and crystalline begging pot to boil water
and piss.
Opaque pot.
Body permanent.
Body dead.
Body of bone and piss.
Body of uterus rotting.
Body of sacred mouth.
Flowing river body of sadness she laps onto catwalks
and all husbands throw trinkets at her.
Ecstatic worshipping woman, bones thirsty relics,
lapping divine river, Eldorado river
golden immortal fortune, she is stark and naked.
All of the husbands bless her with their sadness.
She is healer woman,
someday to pass away and baptize their wrongs,
forgotten dying woman, martyr,
they croon for her, men with tired stockings.
They reach and coil with their beaten army limbs, with their fierce grip
and leathery palms. They reach inside of her gentile calf,
arterial bleeding.
She sways into them;
she is meditating woman
revived from the piles of suicide ashes.
She is pearly Isis with cripple crow wings.
Beneath a red light, beneath a black light.
She is crying light woman!
She is Navajo woman, panting in the winter,
selling priceless jade, curse-encoded.
She is oracle woman, eyes of lotus,
hysterical, missing, melted shut.
Seer woman of peace but sees the wars of their ancestors,
their jugular brothers. She fortells the raping of her village,
the mothers.
Slinking back behind the beaded curtains
she is jungle woman, hair down, hair back, hair on his neck,
slithering Kundalini woman.
Red snake from the garden of language.
She tells him the story of banishment,
and he will teach it on the boughs of willows, on the blackboards.
Disguised, oh her body of magic. She was a serpent.

No comments: