Muslims wearing black sit with Hindus wearing orange
When the pagan of the grey but shining eyes lifts up
A thought about why seafaring peoples like hers
Could fail at promulgating lasting orthodoxies.
Watch out, my pir, priests, sadhus, abbots, and assorted
Holy men, assembling as Etta James warned you would--
The goddess with spear in hand and owl on her shoulder
Is no more ancient than any other cattle queen,
But she's unique among the mess you've made of your rules.
She doesn't exist anymore. That makes her wicked
Powerful in a way that only a deity
Lacking any gospel spouters to keep her temples
Sacred and polish her altars can be. She doesn't
Exist. Chew on that bit of prayer before you pretend
To know what she's going to say next. Her hypothesis
Is that wanderers' lies light what believers believe.
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