“Madness plants mirrors in the desert. I find their meaning frightening.” ― Floriano Martins
What could catch Lilith? A djinn’s brass bottle?
A song? A prayer? No one could catch Isis,
and she was twice as old. A human skull
is not constructed to house a goddess;
She is vast, like a sand storm, like a djinn.
Mother monster, sire, lady. I am Thirst.
I am Hunger. There isn’t enough sin
here to feed a soul. Sin, like a sun-burst,
is far beyond human control. Make me
arch. Make me dreadful. I’m nothing but loss.
But I believe. Hunger. Thirst. These answers
will not save my soul. I am vain and She
who I’ve caught in a bottle, like a cross,
like a book, will always hate her captors.