Nothing else really can be said about the ones faced with horror thrust upon them in the land of ease and plenty.
But what of those, millions rather than thousands, who have had empire shoved down their throats and up their ____ …? I started thinking about things differently.
Becoming the fuck toy of Empire never ends well. Supporters of ttaf are soon gunna discover this.
One year ago…I think I began to nail it a bit. “…and what of empire…
or is it Empire
it sanctifies itself
in the blood
of many martyrs
in the tears
of all the saints
in the wailings
of the haints…”
Ahhhh…last year I wrote this to try and express how closely the ecstatic and the erotic dance in me as I connect to poetry and the words enter, flow and exit…
I’m asked sometimes if I write erotic poetry, and I allus laff and ask “Why?”
The question is like asking someone if they are eating McDonald’s french fries during the best feast of their life…
So anyway…this poem is about Poetry, about connection with the Divine, and yes, it can be about connection with the person you love to…connect with.
PS: this selection is towards the end of the poem…there is a staircase that gets you there, but you have to decide whether you ascend these steps, or descend them…either one is wow!!
…I am buried living-forward
I’m resurrected dying-backward
I am stained forever always after
with that pungent glory,
with Her Glory running down
my chin and from my lips so wet
and thus I shiver deep within
all the way from my down-low throb
to the very roots of my
ecstatic shining hair…