Isis and Horus

Driving into an area where the sun drapes darkened benches when the moon’s lost its light to campfires when I learn see again underneath the sheen of the milky way herein fairies roam and dwell; for, they seek something similar strange…

Carvings have aged but clear, Isis turns into a bird has sex with the phallus and creates a pillar. After finding Osiris, who has been chopped to pieces, re-assembling his pieces, we find Osiris whole again, lying on a stone slab, and Isis turns herself into a bird, hovers over Osiris, makes his phallus erect, draws his semen up into her womb, whereby Horus, the Son is born.

I AM Horus, a hore of us is part of us and we move on into the we of us
Here we reside for most of the time between
But, she runs beyond the stars
On a sunlit wave step that I could not reach
not on the sunnestmost beach…

I disobey, I dream but don’t try
I’ve separated into a thousand pieces
Each one tells a lie.
I’m dismembered atop the mountain in Prometheus slumber
Then remembered in dream every night.
Images churn and spin like wind running through fire
Turning to ashes what once had been alive.

Invigorating fire—I hear a sound past the inane
In the midst of what was once sparking fire
A lady’s cry answered by bufoonic antics
Related to putting out a fire—
What I see here is plentiful loving fire
Regardless the winds that treacherously overtake
Fire, rather that one could warm themselves’ over

And we build our fire with the logs that remain
Reveling in the warmth and light that is reborn
Out of Prometheus’ flesh and suffering
For us…