On the Anvil of my Grave, Words

The Albatross guided me to its perch, fettered among the old bones of its companions ...

Feral dogs roamed ...

And I the Warrior uprose, unafraid:

For who should smite an open heart?

Look courageous and unafraid, I was advised by The Most Wise:

Stand firm upon thy oaken chest

And warn the World of its wounds:

Yet fragile as I was I could not take the stand,

And I threw down my anvilled pen,

To roam amidst the temples of the Forest;

And a Hermit approached me:

Drink of my elixir, O Fair One, he counselled, and let not the Iron Dragon block thy Way; for the Way is clear ...

And yet still did I feel afraid ...

Renounce thy fears, O Bloody One!

Bleated the little lamb which then appeared. Learn from my meekness! Arise, let thyself be shorn!

Yet I found its bleatings to be futile,

And I saw it stretched and slain ... and so like Solomon I warned my brothers not to partake of the Feast, for it was poison ...

Then did I ascend the Sacred Mountain, voluptuous in its Entirety, and make a Fire;

Entrenched in Stones ...

Agave nectar descended from my breasts and lit the stones, until they smoked pleasantly ...

And I was fertile in my domicile ...

It was then that I realized that Freshness is the antidote to Wisdom;

The Babe nurses the Man.

And He that would live

Must kill the Truth

watercolor and india ink on paper, 12"x16"