Poem: Kali Makes Good

kli
Kali has put away all her severed heads
And skulls – “No longer,” says she, “will
I be a lady of gore, but a lady of love!”

“I scarcely see how you can do that!”
Interposed her pet crow, whose sole
Livelihood depended upon her ability
To combine carrion with courtship

“No, I am done with all that!” she declares,
“No more will I thrust and frug until skin is
Worn away to bone and hoof,

“I will serenade the sun, and awaken to the day
In pleated skirts – I shall ice ski across frozen wastes,
And nibble on the nipple of every nunnery –
Not in the gnawing, blood-thirsty way in which I used,
But dainty and pretty, like a new-born kitten, that has not
Yet distinguished right from wrong –
Accepting one and deploring the other!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” scoffed The Crow,
“You were made to fuck the dust of the world.
You may work towards innocence and purity,
But you will do so with such impossible lust
And cruelty, that many would have refrained
From leaping into the grave, had you just remained
The war-hungry whore you are.”

But Kali was not the one to heed such words.
She put on her nun’s habit,
Assumed the form of a lamb,
And dawdled sweetly into the world.

II.
But once a Goddess,
Always a Goddess

Kali travelled over dusty mountains,
Through endless fields of gold,
She tickled her cunt in old stone farmhouses,
And searched in the vastness to find the clitoris
Of the world

She travelled for so long that she forgot
Who she was and became a maid on a poor
Peasant’s farm

She sucked on the tits of cattle,
And so inflamed the appetites of the she-bovines,
They would go rampaging after the bulls, and leave
Them trembling, traumatized in silage barns

III.
But then Kali forgot she was a milkmaid,
She tore off her clothes, danced across space,
Spontaneously, violently, and landed, uninvited,
On a madman’s star – and fucked him so violently,
He became sane, and afraid of his own sanity,
Doing everything he could to try and drive himself
Mad once again, like a chef trying to repeat a drunken
Recipe he knows he’ll never repeat

But Kali grew disinterested and drove herself elsewhere,
Landing on a sacred star, where sex and gender did not exist,
And peace and serenity reigned secure – within a week,
The planet was a forest of cunts and cocks – all the
Androgynous Ones were put to death, and the only
Thing more central than lust was eternal conflict and
War

IV.
Eventually the gods grew tired of this
And determined they must intervene,
And so, intercepting her as she hitched
A ride on a passing comet, they whisked
Her up to The Brahma Heaven that overlooks
The Earth

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
Questioned Krishna, not knowing whether
To look amused or stern

“I don’t know who I am!” she cried
Triumphantly as a little girl, and such

Was the merriment of her ejaculated amnesia,
The whole heaven split in two, and went tumbling
Back to Earth.

V.
When she awoke, she found herself beneath
A lime tree in a German park, with a sweet,
Dirty blonde woman sat beside her, stroking
Her false tresses and curls

“How can I do it, Stephanie?” she asked her,
“I try to be pure and innocent, and yet all I
Leave behind me is carnage and war –
How can I be as sweet and as kind as you are?”

Stephanie smiled and lowered her sweet blue
Eyes to meet those of the Goddess-bound girl:

“You are not designed to be sweet,” she said,
“And you can be sweeter by far by just being
Who you are. Listen to the words of your faithful
Crow – he will not lead you wrong,”

VI.
Then night fell, and the sky was as black
As a raven’s beard, and everything shimmered
With the dense foliage of his feathers, hypnotized
By his guttural squawk
She cuddled into his plumage, and,
In the softness of that sleep, she slowly
Returned to her original form, and the
Bandolier of severed heads regrew
As she nuzzled into his fur

And, closing her eyes as peacefully
As a little girl, she dreamed happily
Of violence and war

 

POEM: That Insidious Sun

kali_002

My darling,

You are Kali herself

The skulls of my various lives

You wear as a necklace

A testament to

My ongoing mutilation

The chamber of my heart

Is the bloodied mansion

In which you insouciantly ensconce yourself

Using my entrails for a hammock

Swinging to and fro

A pendulum of pain

Hiding yourself demurely

Behind the veil

Of my invisible agony

Do you come back

Life after life

Just to torment me

The one obstacle

I have never been able to surmount?

The wailing prophets

Were never short of apocalyptic visions

Sickened and spellbound

After poisoning themselves with putrid fruit

Grown on the crooked tree of love

I’m sorry if my suffering overflows

To fill your glasses too

This a feast of the dead

A feast of the damned

The samurai strides through the battlefield

Decorated with the corpses of war

The maggot-ridden

Medals of glory

Alone in the ocean of death

He thinks of his Japanese maiden

Her face painted white

A living Amaterasu

A sun he could never have dreamed

Would ever enlighten him

Now that light only burns

He hides himself

In the darkness of the demoniac

Yet he always comes crawling out again

To gratefully receive his torment

Wounds and injuries

No armour could ever prevent

He looks in the mirror

And sees her face

Staring back at him

His identity is gone

Hers is an infection

That eats him alive

He thinks of his blade in its sheath

Thrust into his solar plexus

A fitting marriage

Of steel and soul

But this soul has already been stolen

By a queen who has no use for it

Except to plump out the cushions

Of her squalid indifference

I used to be able to do that

To sit happily upon corpses

And watch the world go by

Now the corpses

Are all my own

The world is not going by me

But I’m going bye-bye to the world

Going the way

Of ashes and bones

Of horseflies and mallets

And assembly-line clones

After all the people I’ve killed

I have no choice but to be crowned

With that insidious sun