A verse inscribed in fire and light.
Sekhmet
This is not a downward spiral
This is a bold expedition to the center of the earth
We are brave pioneers, deep-sea divers
Not a raw fistful of drunk college students packed in a tin-can apartment because
The rest of the world won’t have us
_
And, although the magic touches your fingertips at dusk some nights
Although we let the magic lick your fingertips at dusk
There are still cool cats with sleek black sheens expiring in the streets in droves
Without a witch or anyone to utter a curse at
Man of earth, do you know you are but dust, but a clay piggy-bank
Waiting to be sliced open with a guillotine?
We can die but we cannot be killed
We can control our birth rates but we’ll be Echidna
Tiamat, Nyx and Gaia birthing nightmares like
Chick-Fil-A on Sundays, and ANTIFA, and Women’s Rights
And we’ll never stop making jokes about how much we want to die
–
But, as the hero of ages marches, tall, dark, feminine, armed with a list of guns and roses
Just as stunning as her eyes, we turn and find that
The cats have all gone back to napping
And pissing on each other’s kitchen floors
–
This is a war, not a website
This is a protest, not a mistake
A parade, not a death march off the edge of 29 and 30
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