As the the thin crescent , a scythe
Cuts through the darkness
So was also the screams of
Achilles’ army
Being whiped out but the amazons
In the night
Who am I
But woman
Am I

Were I to dwell a day

in the den of my enemies.



What would we say

of the corpses they ******

and threw in the corner?



Their history torn to ribbons

and chained to the same toilets

from which they garner

their greatest thoughts and values.



How many burning crosses

would dawn their books?



How many hoods for the wash?



Who-


pray-tell



does the washing?



The husks of flesh cut into pounds

festering on a shelf somewhere.


Once colored and cultured,

now decaying,

both in smell and in sight.



All by design.



At an oaken feasting table.



I see them eat the termites

as appetizers.



So many holes, it looks like dry split bone.



Some monstrous creature

that never had blood to spill.



From the corner of their slack jawed mouths

I see the wine swish
and drip
and drench.



They talk about Andrew Jackson
 and the Civil War.



As I fight the urge

to light myself on fire.

First, Mother Nature met Diana.

Mother nature, autonomous woman
Place the elixir of life onto my tongue,
Three drops, put your mouth above mine
Let your saliva drip in
Touching the roof of my mouth.

I’ll now tilt my head back,
Choking as it runs down my throat,
A beautiful agony, as always
Into my body,
Down to my stomach,
The tonic of life,
Our life.
Now we shall create.
Amen.

Second of all, with fountains of love, they created a child. They went on to call her Rosina.

let your bees come in,
pollinating, creating life
but only under my terms,
only when i choose
to let them feast upon me

let a small peach form
on the branches of my womb
but let her core be poisonous
hydrogen cyanide,
to keep thieves at bay

if my body is a garden,
let it be ripe,
ever growing, ever flowering
a stretch of soft grass,
for us to lay our heads

mother, mother, daughter
the heavens will sing.