(neo-cthtonic howl)
on the day of the inauguration of a new goddess
seven doves died, eaten alive by eight crows
we buried them with her when she burned out
took us a long to get here
tracked the fine lines of an estrogen-angel
i can’t remember if it was pink or purple
the colour of a thousand crushed snails
the light is something else here
no chorus of a solar god
that arrogance was blinding
but we had the guts to castrate horus
this is passion, the real stuff
everything is new
we are the daughters of her radiation
intervention far-off, star-signals creating
mutant women who can’t bleed
or won’t
i reach into adam’s chest and break each of his ribs
Nevada-Jane Arlow got her name from a series of dreams about the Mojave desert. She is a writer and performance artist whose work has been featured in Queer Poets Write about Nature, Lantern Magazine, and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. She lives in Toronto and longs for primordial mud.
Twitter: @FakeDesertGirl
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