Confess

Confess!
You are having a secret love affair
with your Anger,
that ruby-fanged serpent,
that Autumn moon
coiled in your belly.
With the wand of immortality
and the prod of your conviction
that you cannot die
(admit it, yes, it's death
that is the outrage)
you coax her quivering tongue
to flick flames at steeples,
minarets, missile silos,
and topple the pyramids
of lineage.
Don't hide in that chamber
of correctness.
You're just like them,
filled with the wrath of your fathers.
Give up blaming.
Just stand
on your funeral pyre and dance
naked in the foolishness of hell.
After all,
Hell was the name
of the Goddess once
when caverns were holy
and fungal, reptilian
love dropped her veil
of madness, 
and the sun melted
our bodies into ghee.



Painting by Anne Marie Zilberman