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