11-01-2016, 02:35 PM
Song of the Great Mother
Impotent bull, you force me off my seat
with hidden savagery -- as if your words
could steal desire.
It is the fool who least desires to work
for something seen oblique -- life after death?
It is a peak: the mountain, white with fog
and snow. An Attis' heart was made to sting,
born of the blade that bloomed between his legs
and turned man into girl. What of belief?
It is the fool who thinks the heart is chief
and not of equal need. Remove the flesh
and who should hear me speak? Remove the mind
and how should speech be heard? As if you'd trust
a voice of madness calling from within --
and so the birds, the shaking of the goats,
the shuddering of leaves....
....yet have I said too little, asked too much?
And now the wood beneath me creaks
but not with age. Beside me stand
two lions, both on edge -- two golden thieves.
Impotent bull, you force me off my seat
with hidden savagery -- as if your words
could steal desire.
It is the fool who least desires to work
for something seen oblique -- life after death?
It is a peak: the mountain, white with fog
and snow. An Attis' heart was made to sting,
born of the blade that bloomed between his legs
and turned man into girl. What of belief?
It is the fool who thinks the heart is chief
and not of equal need. Remove the flesh
and who should hear me speak? Remove the mind
and how should speech be heard? As if you'd trust
a voice of madness calling from within --
and so the birds, the shaking of the goats,
the shuddering of leaves....
....yet have I said too little, asked too much?
And now the wood beneath me creaks
but not with age. Beside me stand
two lions, both on edge -- two golden thieves.

