wounded god

the wounding
the wounded god

roving i find, furred with perfumes oh, so welcoming, my prey.

bred among the unknown roots they dart like rainbows.

oh, my fish! my hares!  my goal is the young god’s hand, his leathered wrist,

his upraised arm: to sleep in a ribboned hood, to soar on command.


my night, the half shut of my eyes, is my hood.  i dream in jesses.

mars is a red-eyed elf, his arrows steely slick with the oily pain of dying prey.

o masculine! o man!  i have struck your wounded womb with words,

o wounded god, i’ve slain you now, while searching for your soul!


your sky-womb nurses the red-eye elf-stone of your soul.

your fleshed-with-warlove, stained and stony egg you lick with pain-

edged flames of water, warm within, cool in hot, your stone

of willing self.  i feel your foetal feet kick the inner muscle of my womb.

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