Where do you take God in moments of agony? Soft wicked skin, my feather tongue. God could be anywhere, the serpent love bliss, drunk on a full body of wine. Intoxicated, venerated. Only between not above. God was weaving like a snake threaded thru the needle of my body, she came out my hand and touched you. Sharp, unbearable knowing. She came out my eyes and saw you, found you looking. Seeing what you’ve done. In me a thousand gods live. Looking for pain to become one with, union. You thought you knew what you wanted, heart beat. You want the tears between my legs, you want the blood I swallow. You want the violent bird to sing. You want the storm to kill it’s first born. You want the hissing cat to pull you through the slither of the dark tunnel where black wet vampire cats live groaning and dripping with that thing you wish to be, me. Me, I am you. She is a serpent, the queen serpent who is the winding, grinding maker of bodies that must die. Many cats above us, hang wrapped in heavy trees. I know where fruit grows, I’ve been alive a million years. Becoming everything the serpent spirals. Kiss the locked gate, bend over the seed. Get black by the fire’s hiss. Words like flames burn flesh from bone. Don’t you want me anymore? I am a moment of agony.
The throne is where you put me, I reign in any abode. Besides me, nothing exists. Serpent is Queen, and she gives you everything you desire.
This is for sure. Maybe you need to push a little harder, be more focused on the flame of that erection. It’s all an erection, getting wanted, wanting. That’s her. Everything moving, seducing itself in the hypnotic trance, rave of God. It’s a journey, maybe. But it’s going nowhere. Just a throbbing mind spin, under the covers it’s black and I’m there and I know everything…and we aren’t born with anything but sockets for eyes and fingers to push. A mouth to suck poison, a breast that reminds us that even while eating it’s really all about sex. Yes. Sexy mother the cat, hissing wildly, deep in the bed of taboo and religion. Well, I want her more than you do. Try harder. It’s all fucked up, dirty diapers, bloody sheets, slimy hands, happy fingers, a lonely tongue, an empty glass of wine. His blood all over the Bible next to the shadowy bed. Her face in your mind, her words. “Did you make your bed?” I love all the children as much as they’ll let me, what’s legal, how God writes the book. And the places we find her, strands of left over hair and the oil of flowers, is all over the pain of love making love. Black aching want, the dark mother mouth who started all sin. Lonely and fucking her children, not knowing she was all alone while they died, slowly into her cup, deeply into her skull. Skin baby soft rubbing, wicked, she knows everything. The dream of hissing and the throb of deep kissing. More, more, move over. I’ll kill you in the crib. Baby blanket, a heart we all live in, under, inside, is her and everything she’s given. She’s a queen serpent. She’s the cat mother. Black witch honey, a love too bright to see. A love too selfless to be legal. A Iove to lethal to die. A want to real to be safe. A body too magical to be entered. A feeling too much to be spoken. A child too sexy to be a child. And you think I’m saying nothing about tantra? I tell you everything in every sound, move, gesture, breath. I write the words as if I were the one pulling, the thread of light through your needle. Orgasm only occurs as dusk, midnight and occasionally dawn. She’s the mask in the madness that appears as beauty so your mind is less afraid of her love. So you can have what you want, and think it’s not me. Your mother. Sacred giver of sex death and home. What a fucked up world this is, that makes you think it’s somebody, anybody else but her that you want. And yes, she makes daddy jump too, straight into you, under your bed listening for the ache to be over.
It’s MY WORLD.
I can do what I want. Like a charm, I am a dreamer of dreams that go under the eyelids of sky and take my body over and empty my heart out, and drink all of my wine. Naked humans, how lonely we are pretending to be someone else, just to get back inside her lustful secret black body revealing itself in every sin and saint. I told you. You will get what you want. Learn how to fuck. That’s it, it’s inherent in every movement, even the yearning corpse for a cigarette. Desire the one who forbids you to enter, dark weaver, she is your soft basket of flowers. She is the sweetest mother. The hottest
fire ever known. Become the wind who blows her flames, become the wind her smoke rises into.
Become the wind, the hearer of her spells. Love the serpent mother cat. Witch body moon. Blood drinking cradle robber. Erection of the light. Annihilator of thoughts that say yes and no. The wasteland of emptied bodies, the love goddess who leaves a mark. Dirty. Pure. Innocent, guilty…feral and forbidden.”it is as it is,” my heart has said, “my love is in the words and moments you trample, in the unclean bodies you bury in rules and useless graves. My corpse never dies but desires forever…the seeds of my lovers are blown into me even against the will of wind…”
my luminous love child,
abandon all in her wildflowers,
bliss hiss kiss, get out of your skin, leave the tree, seeds upon the dirt, loving in mutiny, the phallic dim sky. born again, Sharada Devi