“Oh, the fire of my guts…”
Umar Ibn Al Farid
The Hindus have a goddess who vomits snakes
Who’s wreathed in severed heads (her hair oil:
Brain paste) and lays down mass graves
They believe that all that checks her evil
Is waterfalls of blood.
If you approached this goddess,
If you entered her circle,
If you knelt before the sundered limbs,
Hanging at her chin,
You’d see the opening of her mouth beneath her eyes,
two quarries of fire:
A well lined with knives.
And though she is, in origin, a kind goddess,
Tending crops and lovers,
And though this terror is only her angry aspect
(Because the Hindus’ gods, praise God,
Each have more than one
And to each a name)
It’s best you pray to her by this name…
My Lady of Dismemberment and Temptation
I need to be God, if only for a night,
I need to refashion one person in this world
That my existence might stand tall. And when I take possession of that person,
As Night and Famine are thine,
I shan’t make do with standing in a line of believers
Which I saw with my own eyes in Nepal
Most of them poor, without the price of ram or lama,
A sacrifice befitting thy spleen,
(They shall grease thy statues with what their fingers lap
From the sluggish brooks of blood,)
And the offerings they bore did not surpass
A scrawny duck or cat killed by a car,
A monkey, spine broken from an ill-judged leap,
Or a blind rooster seeking feed with his beak.
I shan’t make do with standing in their line
And watching the tiny necks broken between fingers.
I shall be of purity and clarity sufficient
To offer myself to thee true and whole,
Without fear or grief.
My Lady of Dismemberment and Temptation,
For my brain to become a paste to preserve thy hair from split ends,
For my bones to become pikes for thee to tilt at the bodies of innocents
And my heart a bonbon in thy mouth,
I need to be God.