1. SPHINX
You stumble upon her
Right in the middle of nowhere
World weary
Man-eating whore
Goddess of desperate loneliness
Deserted hearts
Desiccated emotions.
The smell is pungent
On the dust shrouded plain
Big, feral cat-reptile house
With a hint of exotic oriental perfumes
And scented oils from India
That makes the stomach churn.
Dead meat stinks too
Pork gone bad in the sun
On the stony Abyssinian desert
Scorched by heated winds
And something worse.
Something that begs the question
The answer is the only thing
The Sphinx desires . . .
Her pendulous perfumed
All-to-human breasts
Heave and sway with evil lusts
Her frowzy hair stacked up
Like a bar-fly bitch in heat.
She is Fallen from Grace
A child of the Watchers who thirst now in hell
Soul of the Nephilim incarnate
You stare into her cold, silver orbs.
Bone weary
Man-killing harlot
Stinking of predatory birds
Stalking Egyptian vulture
Seeking a fresh kill
Her feathers rustle, ruffled with impatience
She wants to pounce for the kill
Begging the question,
Always begging the question.
Ponder, mortal, the question
Of the ages.
I
2. Why are you here,
Man?
To suckle at her massive breasts
The milk of inhuman unkindness
And learn the secret languages
Of the beasts and birds?
To mount her lion-like mount
To mate with monsters bred
From the sleep of your reason
To produce more monsters of nature?
Do you want to be her main course
Are you looking for a way out of
Making any more choices
In the endless desert of vapid decisions?
You stumble upon her
Right in the middle of nowhere
Love weary
Man-Hating slut
Goddess of All Consuming Desire
Half-eaten hearts
Masticated love muscles.
Answer her question now,
Then go your way
Her Grace is sated for the moment
And requires your departure
Before she changes her mind
Like any natural woman.
The riddle of the sphinx
Is not the dissonant art of her make-up
It is not the question she poses
It is the nature of the beast.
David St. Albans
Scottsdale, AZ
August 4, 2008
II