God has always come
Back a woman.
Long before
there was a Jesus,
Eve stood in a Garden
And tried to correct
Her brother's sin;
She was Lilith then.

She packed her bags,
And strolled off  to
the mountains to be
with whomever she
So chose; She left
God and Adam to
Figure it out:
The lie the would tell;
The creature they would
Blame;
The clothes.

Yes, God has come
Back multiple times,
And in multiple screaming,
Female  forms..
She came back as
All the Dahomey
Women, The Amazons,
Salem Witches, Big Mommas
Abuelas
And midwives.
God has. Had an endless
Universe of
lives.

She even came back a
a little Jewish girl;
Stowed away in an attic
During the Holocaust.
In India she came as
Phulan.  In Africa
She came as Winnie,
In Argentina, Chadron.
While men may name
their legends, myths
and fables, just as
Adam did.

God has.never.had
Names and titles
In mind;
  Every time a girl
takes a breath she is
reborn, she is there
Carrying revolutions
In her silences and
eternity in her hair.

She will come back
A fire next time.

The Shadow of
Scorpio,
Life's poison
Sting.

Shell of life
Stand on the edge
Of Apep; only
you can kiss
the devil and
not burn.

Flame that catches
Only its shadow;
Let the past RIP
Like swirls of
blue
flame from a
dragons rage.

All the dragons
have fallen to
Myth.

Only the Phoenix
Remains.

I have possessed myself,
In the evening of my
own becoming;
I lured myself
to sit alone
with no one
watching; I
cast my net
of torments
like hell stone
upon my own
Head.
I whispered
To myself in
a legion of
Voices until I
wished
To die. I watched
myself call for
Gods
Unknown while I,
my own
Hell's hound,
gnawed
on my own bones;
II summoned
my own inner demons
to join me for the
feast, never suspecting
that If I was
my own
demons I was also my
Own priest. And now
I've been exorcised
by myself and pulled
back from hell;
forever in service
of the angel
whose name
I call myself.

There are times
When I am acutely
Aware that I am really
Just bones lying in
A sack of blood upon
My bed. How easily
We forget
That we are simply
Foreign
Entities possessing
The bodies of strangers
We will one day
Forget.

Aren’t we tired of writing
About love? How many words
Have gone wasted as we try
To conjure her upon this
Living page?
We have sat perched
Like random  birds
On our cozy,
Sad chairs; our heads
Hung like overripe fruit
Upon a hanging vine;
There is dust thick
As silt on the edges
Of our memories;
The words our ancestors
Spat with the hope
Of summoning  her
now filter to our
Hidden mind like
So many fireflies on
A too dark night.
We search for meaning
And curse our hearts for
Answers that we never find.
We turn to hieroglyphs
On the worn edges of
A papyrus; indecipherable
Cuneiform etched into
The walls of caves with
Primitive stones.
One day, there will be a
Cure for all maladies;
On that day love will
Still not be defined

I am a bad, bad thing.
I am dark, dark dream
I am death and despair.
I am small, small things
That embed themselves in
Skin and crawl in legions
Through hair.
I am a bad, bad thing.
I am nightmares,  
Nightmares that expand
And stretch and catch
The innocent,  
Innocent  of who
I really am.
I am a bad, bad
Thing

I
Am my only friend
Sin
Of a man brought to
Life
Daughter of an evil
Against
Mothers who can’t
Love
Daughters like me
I
Am my only friend