I wound up on your island,
Near your front porch where
They put in a restaurant and stamped
It with the U.S. logo. You came by,
Slick and quiet, to say hello.
I tried to act cool, like I did not
Want to know everything. But you
Knew I did. You did not indulge me.
You had the aura of a man who
Had been fucked by a real woman
So many times you became a real
Man, and I was soft and sterile,
Pre-menopausal in body, mind and
Spirit. Everything was different, you
She was with her new friends,
A Syrian-Israeli female soldier
And a group of cronies. One of
Them asked you, “so she has to have sex
With you to live here?”
“No, to be a Priestess,” you said,
You looked slick and edgy,
Cold, the warmth was gone.
You did not want to meet my
Family, you did not want to meet me.
We are light years away now,
Blood pumping in opposite
Directions. It reminds me of
The Skeleton Woman. I must
Become as death and lie with her.
You must become as Death and lie
With her. Do you have the Skeleton key?
Just the blood pumping heart
I had a dream God laughed at me.
He said, “woman like to pretend they
Are superior to men, the creators of
Life on Earth. To give birth, we must
Have a seed on continuity. Why do you
Women think I made you so pretty?
So much ugliness in life already, most
Of which you bring. How else could I
Ensure productivity never cease? You
Still need a seed.”
What is to come but the dark and vivid
Dreams of night?
Where my lovers fade, where my true
Love waits, making jewelry and taking
Classes on metaphysicians. He is chubby
Or he is from Maryland. My dreams,
Reminders of those who are stayed with
Me. Not real but in the sense that I
Care. My lover, the man of my dream,
Touched me on a mountaintop of
Crystals. But he did not tell me
He already had a lover.
The Skeleton woman objects. To be
Initiated, you must fuck a corpse.
Maybe necrophiliacs are on to
Something. Perhaps I should date one
Of them. They would love me even when
I am dead.
Life is full of false security.
The only constant is change.
The western world wants to put us
In boxes, and bury us before our time
While they keep corpses alive. Breathing
Is not life, not only breathing anyway.
Wolf packs travel with a vanguard of
Elders to give the rest of them a chance
To get away, to protect the young.
When did we stop living life for God?
Self-preservation or immortality.
These days feel like self-preservation.
My womb is empty and hostile.
My spirit is empty and hostile.
They asked me what I wanted to be when
I grew up and I said, “a tree.” Well, only
In a dream.