i didn’t understand you–
i don’t think anyone did.
i don’t think anyone could.

you were the wrath of the lamb
and the rib of Adam,
you were the burning cherubim by
the savage Garden,
you were Samael and Apollyon,
brooding in Gehenna  

you were a god and a devil,
and i’m afraid
that i never found out who
won, in the end.

when you loved me,
was it because you knew who
i was or was it because
you knew what i would become?

it is often in the face
of adversity that people
flourish, pushing past
cement and brick to bloom

or so you are told–
the lion you find is not
filled with honey,
and only sand scrapes your tongue

its ribs do not yield at your touch,
they do not fall apart
in ivory waves as you
crawl into its thoracic cavity

no, it is but a decaying relic of god;
a carcass left in the dirt
and you can’t help but wonder
how such a thing ever roared

you are no samson, but you
let your hair grow out anyway
and hope to coax strength
from the maw of the forgotten beast

god is a woman
and she is angry.

her tongue is a serpent,
medusas mouth,
and her fists are vultures.

seven eyes,
seven horns,
seven doors.

the angels are women too
because only a woman
can weep so much.
someone unfurl her wings,
break the lock.
she is a dove and this
is her olive branch.

in the catholic church only men
can be priests.
but this church,
this gold and silver church,
was built from the bones
of sleek coated mares,
of birthing cows,
of cream skinned ladies in
veils and jewels and wine stains.

ask delilah of samson.
ask jezebel of ahab.
salome of john,
mary of joseph
and magdalene of jesus.

ask the moon of the sun.

ask god about her daughter,
the one still nailed to the cross,
still awaiting birth in bethlehem.
the carpenters daughter
with a wooden stake at her neck.

ask god about her other daughter,
the one in nazareth
still breathing desert air.

ask god about her sons,
sweet lazarus and wild lucifer,
stepping on hot coals
like summer asphalt.

ask god about the forget me nots
pressed to gravestones
in the heat of august.
ask god about the magnolias
wilted against gravestones
in the bite of december.

ask god about the lions,
the goats,
and the lambs.

ask about yourself,
if youd like.

god is a woman
and hell hath no fury
like a goddess scorned.

i.
To the angel of the church in Ephesus,
Write this:
The one who holds the seven stars
In her right hand and
Walks in the midst of the seven gold lampstands
Says this:
Wickedness drips from the fangs
Of faeries.
A mystical hurt wounds
Its way around your spine.
Revel in the snapping of vertabrae.
Suffer for my name.
Repent for me, my lover.

ii.
To the angel of the church in Smyrna,
Write this:
The first and the last,
Who once died but came to life,
Says this:
You are rich in tribulation.
Bathe in the slander
Of those who came before you.
For ten days we will be faithful.

iii.
To the angel of the church in Pergamum,
Write this:
The one with the sharp two-edged sword
Says this:
The throne is yours.
Hold fast to my name.
Let the gold consume.
You martyred me amongst the rest.
Eat the feast sacrificed to the idols
And I will play the ******.
We will wage war with
The sword of my mouth.

iv.
To the angel of the church in Thyatira,
Write this:
The daughter of a goddess,
Whose eyes are like a fiery flame
And whose feet are like polished brass,
Says this:
I am Jezebel.
Condemned for harlotry,
The ***** and I will crawl on ****** knees,
Broken by mens will,
To the city on seven hills.
It is fire we want

v.
To the angel of the church in Sardis,
Write this:
The one who has seven spirits
Of god and
Seven stars
Says this:
We will wear white.
We will walk with our heads held high.
We are worthy of the divine.

vi.
To the angel of the church in Philadelphia,
Write this:
The holy one,
The true,
Who holds the key of David,
Who opens and no one shall close,
Who closes and no one shall open,
Says this:
They will realize I love you
With a bleeding heart.
The altar will drip red and
I will keep you safe
During the trial.

vii.
To the angel of the church in Laodicea,
Write this:
The amen,
The faithful and true witness,
The source of creation,
Says this:
You are neither.
Neither loved nor hated,
But certainly not loved.
Not loved with the inferno of my heart.
I am rich in wretchedness
And you do not realize
You are naked and blind
Like the lamb with seven horns,
Seven eyes.

Who ever has ears ought to hear.
The victor will never
Taste death from my lips.

with hands made of shrapnel,
i seal the door shut,
hide under the bed.
gunpowder perfume and gasoline showers,
when i was 13 i forced my way out.
i crawled back in,
driven by the sound of
cicadas dying.
theyre last will and testament sounding
too much like salome.
am i john?
summer is over,
the hush of fall falls down
like the last veil.
i am salome,
you are john.
head sitting heavy on a silver platter.
my body is jeweled,
the veils,
the color of violets,
flow, swirl, part.
i reveal myself to the king,
gold melting down his face
like saturated sacrilege.

An open mind is an open vein.

Insane thoughts convey into Cain intravenously then pour out vicariously through Ables brain like a river created from fruitful rain.
 
I don't want to be like Cain or end up like Able, to live disabled and brittle or serve a god and live as a biblical *******.

Realism on a canvas of skin and bone painted by a hand led by sin and the unknown, a brothers keeper estranged with the blood of his own

kept in a state of strife and decay with only dead crops and his thoughts, hes cursed with the lasting of life.