Of Ishtar and the transfiguration of Tiamat
Of a land between two rivers, sing I
I—The divine coronated of the eight stars
Etched by the men from Mars,
I—a star Venus
Alone I stood ahead of Cetus.
Carved in clays and stones,
For the sinuous serpent had me lacking bones.
In a chest of seashells
Gold and skin mold,
My feet of stones shattered
Of the standoff, what mattered?
I am near collapsing.
In a cavity of stubborn seas,
Filthy fluids awaited the full moon,
In spite, I’m driven out of sight
In a room put.
I prayed for the eclipse of moon
Or at least the endless swoon.
Blood moon, blood moon
Not a blood womb.
Over and over until my voice shiver;
It’s not the time for my womb to quiver.
Reden lips, swollen hips
I am expanding to a fetish.
Dimming skies, awaiting crowd, and then;
Hips filled with sea drips;
It happened! I am Holy! A fertile field for the eunuchs!
Life has emerged in void;
Of noise and cries devoid.
There were no livings. Only four.
A man of dust and ground,
Followed by a maid of stolen ribs and whispers sound
And the owner of the circus.
Daughters of the maid,
Breed the condemned deed
They poured out the dry deserts
And I have become the worshiped of the two rivers
For I am the source of the newborns
Cast in gold and head-horns.
Governed by the faithless livers
Worn in stars and rivers,
I am the atonement of the sinful;
I am the virgin gift of the pious.
I am what was, what is, and what will be.
I am all. I am all.
Look at me. Look deeply at me.
A depicted body of false imaginings.
A disease is what I witness;
Corpses humming words of sickness.
There I stood; as an answer to a false prayer
Clowning for the world’s players.
Despite all chaos and drums,
Still managing, still drums-numb
For I couldn’t run without having to run forever.
Thoughts on a whim?
Time of the chant comes,
“Oh blessed Goddess”
I hear in fear.
“You who did fashion us out of nothingness.
Oh Goddess, forgive our sins,
Lead us back naked skins
Return us whence we have fallen”
I lay my head into the deep sleep,
Just another hopeless sheep,
Not a Goddess. Not a fetish, just a creep.
During the deep sleep, my spirit leap
Out of rivers and the rubbish heap
I am ascended high above earth,
Seashells falling into pieces
Stones turning into bones
Clays washed to a skin—
It feels like I have never been.
I could feel. I could feel!
In the air, I could hear whispers
Moving perfectly on the breeze
Voices leading me into the stream
Milk cream— and an amnesia from the steam
So that after all of the sufferings,
I could feel no pain.
Heading to the stream,
Vision fading, body fainting;
My collapse has come.
A belly filled with Gods is leaving me trembling
Damn the moon!
Hideous fingers tearing the womb;
I shall abort!
Sheets filled with blood;
Hid the children in mud
Tearing the sheets, drowning the children in flood,
Now, I could see the stream drying;
A joke for a crying killer who is nearly dying.
In the dimming skies,
I watered the blood moon
Drips by drips,
Flowing down from my hips.
I prayed for the eclipse,
And an eclipse I have become.
A shadow behind—
A shadow of Jupiter.
Cold iron on my neck;
Must be a sword.
Slowly cutting throat;
For I have broken the oath;
Of earth and heaven both
It is the time of the slain.
Cold, cold iron ripping me into two;
Thighs, legs, feet
And an upper with a still heartbeat.
Of skies, my tears are the atoms,
I am the space of a wounded face.
Stars lit out of the stillbirth.
Of earth, I led to a firth;
I am the sea of what was once all I see
Gentle winds raising my waves,
Water struck, water washed,
I am the oceans and the narrow rivers,
That planted greens and heathers.
Pain washed with every tide