The Oracle is in apocalyptic mode today, reflecting current events perhaps, or simply what my writer’s mind is churning over.
and blood cries back from the purple shadows
in the universal tongue of grieving mothers
tears ripped untimely—
listen to the storm coming
on whose watch will it strike?
We have driven the blue away
poured the honey into the dust
and the only light is red.
When this sun sets will the ache
in the marrow of women’s bones
turn to blows?
Love life less
and the rain that falls will be the deluge
the wild wind that unfurls the ocean
the serpent that laps the moon’s milk
and spits out poison.
There will be no thousand ships for us
outnumbering the stars.