As her fingers clicked pictures
of black and blue philosophies,
heads will roll theologies,
I-will-press-my
cigarette-into-your
hands-and-feet bureaucracies
(which trade little girls
for photos as glossy
as snake lips)…
Aidos, goddess of shame,
day-dreamed
about how to
crumple His world into
a paper ball…
while she smoked,
ashes as white
as human snowflakes
fell
from the shade
of her cigarette…
He sold Himself
sold Himself
sold Himself
as if a person should be…
sold
As if a God could be
sold
to a goddess of shame…
She was a queen of hearts
shame base
I’ll-eat-you-for-dinner hate face
and he was a wild card
buying back Snowflake specters
from hell-bent ferries…
drowning power trips and hissing lips
some place under the river Styx