Dear Kali
Jen Rouse
Dear Kali—
Please take this head,
its dangling scalp dripping
dismissal ego goo. What did
those eyes ever see but soullessness
and unmet desire, disappointment
a ring of fire around my neck?
Dear Kali, when you—nonplused,
eternal, and freshly fucked—
watch me now, I will not see
you hold out nothing as an
offering in all of your arms.
Dear Kali, there was never
supposed to be need. But, bending
beneath the lotus bed, how I wanted
and how I rose to your attention,
unfurled each petal like a kind
of aphrodisiac, and you,
you remained unaffected.
Dear Kali, here is a house
full of gods and all I want is
the blood of your fearless cunt,
the curve of your cry as blessing.
Call me initiate, call me for the saving.
Hang my skull as a perfect letter from
your singing throat, lick my tears
as I have nothing left to offer. O,
my mother of language. O,
my muse in constant abandon.
Cauldron Anthology
37