I don’t have a tongue. I cut it off and fed it to the hungry dogs. I sacrificed myself to her hunger long ago as a missing organ pulled from it’s orifice. Gone for good, more blood in the bucket. And she is me, just as a sucking tentacle that reaches into you looking for him. I am Shiva. As her I give rise to his reign. I lie beneath her blackened force, bleached by her trident gaze. Understood, untouched and as timeless as a living stone. I see Shiva, supremely wanton and so I want nothing. A white lily opens… penetration, piercing the skin, deep into her boundless space. He sees up and in and through all that has been outsourced. I am definitely Shiva. I don’t have any holes or protrusions that shed or that leak. I lay spread open and flat, shimmering like the desert sand, a maze of meaning beneath the blazing sun. I don’t have anything that hasn’t been subdued or extracted by her rhythmic movement. Lost in this aimless love is only a flagrant mirage. I never wept when I was cut open. I am Shiva. I am the One who doesn’t split or look or bleed. I am the one who simply sees. She wound me from my timeless sway until I became the king of the cobra, ashes to ashes, smeered into the all seeing diamond eye. I don’t breath this stale air and so you can’t smother me with futile need or a reckless life. My heart is silent and my blood is clear and gone. I am Shiva looking south to where she stands holding my sacred gun. Nothing is black. Everything is blinded by me as her white light of otherworldly madness. She is naked and blue with solid gold hands and feet. Shiva sees her as the root of an ancient tree, as the outline of an edgless sky, as a steep blue mountain, moody and shadowed. I am Shiva, don’t doubt my good luck. I don’t go anywhere. I belong where I am, beneath her.
Perched on the rooftop a dark bird watches every crackle take place in time. Swooping down as if this last time has come by chance. And just like a torch through the night long fog, wings of fire and brimstone consume and become the savior of my plight. Come back, come back and try again. I hope you don’t get stuck in her throttle. Her throat is deeper than it is long, and there is no turning back. Once you enter her sight you cannot ever turn around, you can only go deeper. She is bottomless like the sinking rain that has neither origin or destination. Because nothing is really black you can’t hide from your underside. Shiva does means EYE after all. His erected probing eye becomes her lift that peaks the valleys into the white and red orb of their eternal honeymoon…a frenzy of lunatic chaos churning the night sea of enlightenment.
We did not push back. We didn’t really care…we did not beat our hearts in fury for what we could not find. We did not hold our heads up high when we knew that we forgot. We did not care that we do not know the day or hour of the coming of the lord. Who you are seeing isn’t me, my dark birdlike eyes are watching from behind the setting sun waiting…while the sky is made of looking glass through which me as Shiva sees. You have not seen me. I stand behind her front and turn the pages you can’t see. Beyond the face of her clock or hand, breathing out, just wasting love on the fear of what remains, pretending we have legs to run with. She told me long ago that I can’t move at all- as just a sticky spew of breaking bones, old blue eyes, bald spots and dried up tears.
“Why have you forsaken me?”
I never forgot that I didn’t remember and so I was going, offering my lesser face and my ticking heart to the eraser of a grimmer fate…and so it’s over at the end of this pale world and my searching, tell all love, as what confuses a heavy head, is written upon the pages of who I hold as the passing of time come true. Into her endlessly unfolding arms I am her belonging. And so I have nothing. I am Shiva possessed by God and holding the the eye of the perfect storm.
I am the thunderbolt of sanctuary.