Look down upon my contours, stand on my paired pinnacles, a circle of roses,
upon which many would be conquers have stood,
and from which flow
the rivers of life that have swaddled uncounted armies.
The Greeks knew that it was the spray of milk
from my breasts,
that spattered across the heavens to create the galaxy.
Gaze upon my smooth ripe slopes,
their subtle curves that rise up from the bones of the world.
In one direction are the glistening blue seas of deep,.
Kingdoms not of this world have made it's rills to a capital of the soul and spirit.
In the other lies the sandy coloured plains,
down to the great delta,
that place of succor which men struggle to control.
Behold a gem, set in the navel of my belly,
which rests over the deep powerful of my fertility.
Within it, within me, all that is was born.
The first words, and first cities, the first gods, and the first monsters.
From this, from there deep within my underworld is the origin of the cosmos.
And then journey down through my thicket of reeds,
closer and closer to the mouth of my river, whose wetness exudes a hot scent.
Here feast all who would call themselves kings.
It is here that heroes first choked dragons on mortal combat.
It is here that the they are enveloped in paradise and pleasure.
It is here that is the utter east, that eden,
where man and woman were made in the image of many gods.
On my soft skin are etched the cuniform,
the cunt writing of the ancient ages,
worshipping the givers of rain,
the bringers of fertility and life,
spawned by union of hot desires and cold calculation.
Unto this land you new, bright, Siegfried have come,
free of the bonds of an old world,
and not knowing fear.
You think you have come to slay a beast, without becoming one in return.
Unto this land you came to set your seal on my flesh,
hoping to brand my waters, white and black,
with your starry banner, striped with bone and blood.
On these hallowed grounds you have come,
to topple down images of my breasts
that are built buy the last sun god to seek to subjugate the mistress moon.
He put her symbol on his flags,
he gave them over to her green fertility,
he set his calendar by her,
hoping that these concessions would bind her daughters over to him,
binding them in marriage servility.
His temples are spires that are thin,
with globes which are round and large.
Tell me, as you gaze upon them,
is it yin or yang which is more powerfully expressed?
Here you have built your temple to fertility, and called it "a green zone,"
though it be spattered in blood.
Here you have had your "surge" of unnatural male enhancement,
to subjugate the city which is the jewel of my navel,
hoping that by spilling blood, and slaughtering innocent and guility alike,
that your sky god, with his image of the raptor eagle will be larger than any other god.
Is that not what you said: "my god is bigger than his god?"
But little men contend, it is the goddess that rules the ends.
And what is it that you seek?
Why of course, the rivers of my moisture,
that mud that you feed your peoples and their many multitudes,
that ancient life compressed until it has fermented into a black liquid gold,
for, over, and with which, so many millions have died.
Your leaders cower before this awful nightmare,
and consign your sons to flames of woe.
You strut and stride your perversions in your prisons,
as you humiliate the sons of other mothers.
You shatter your own tablets of law so eager for my delta are you.
You lap your tongue in me, the land the Greeks once called "Euphrates."
But I tell you that there are ancient laws from first the goddess set her seal,
on this, the oldest profession.
These rules bind me and thee in an eternal embrace,
for your sons shall not be coming home their mothers,
but shall be absorbed in me.
Their life to feed my life, their sinews to become my soil.
I hold between my thighs, to each side of that narrow gulf,
the delta of venus, into which you clumsily seek to jam your omega of Mars.
For I am the whore of babylon, and you shall not come to rape me and leave.
No matter how passionately you delve my depths seeking moisture,
intoxicated by my musk, I shall consume you in my tunnel,
never to see light again.
Those who come to seek the blackness shall find the darkness.
Did you not know the ancient myth,
that even heroes who die
fall into the abyss,
and there to feed on mud for all eternity?
(Sleep the long sleep Mr. Gilliard. I play Egmont for you, and remember the hours spent reading your fluent anger at the rot of this age.)