Page 48 - November 2020
P. 48

                                                                                       November 2020

                                               Empress of Stone

                                                    Theresa C. Gaynord

                                                          Theresa likes to write about matters of self-
                                                          inflection  and  personal  experiences.  She
                                                          likes  to  write  about  matters  of  an  out-of
                                                          body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects
                                                          of an idyllic, pagan nature and the occult.

                                   There’s a female icon, a multiethnic idol,
                                   with forlorn eyes, blind to love’s idyllic
                                   reputation; faceless stone, heavy breasted,
                                   holding a crescent moon in the washed out
                                   plains of vivid greens, all over vast distances.

                                   She is one of the knowledgeable elders,
                                   ceremonially charged by the Moon Goddess,
                                   with the sustenance of inheritance. Her
                                   foundation is found within the strobes of
                                   lightening that tear up the Heavens,

                                   twisting silicone lines into energetic pictures,
                                   sketching out fertility symbols scrambled
                                   by gusts of wind blown over phalluses, the
                                   male half. In his dream she is his sex, and he
                                   will want of her, a kiss,

                                   that fills her empty womb with his bright seed.
                                   Gray hands will steady over gray hands at
                                   this one intercourse of primordial commissions,
                                   where thunder pushes and pushes and pushes,
                                    wailing life from limestone blue, into the world.
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