ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM
                        
***BIO*** Twenty-seven cycles of the sun ago Ra Gabriel was born in Heliopolis (now Baalbek, Lebanon) from where he says he derives his strength. He strongly believes in coatlism--a theory of spirit and matter making up equal parts of the universe while in constant stuggle and courting. He edits a small press which recently had a fatwa issued against it. For the safety of all involved we will not mention the name. He lives somewhere in Asia with his sultry girlfriend. He spends his time gardening and making sun-dials (he calls them self-dials). Everything is very Ra-centric. He has been published in various print and online magazines.
© 2007 zygoteinmycoffee Ink.
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The Smoking Mirror
by Ra Gabriel
1.

1519 was the year One Reed.
2001 was the year of Suprema
The year Quetzalcoatl was to return
The year terrorists toppled twin towers
Against sacrifice Quetzalcoatl driven out
By the Smoking Mirror, a thirsty god
Thirsty for the sulfuric stench
Of human blood.

Terrorism—a liana in the crutch of a tree—
Blossomed on the year Four Yax
The color green-blue
The year leading up to the great prophesy
That 2012 will be our destruction

Then,
Earthquakes, floods, fires, hurricanes
Drought, unbearable heat, disease
Were all proof that there was
A great malevolence
If the gods weren't mollified.

So great Moctezuma
Like Hasaw and Pacal
Kept captives in cages
Fought wars for the prisoners
Wore flayed skin
Till it rotted.

Now
Add bombs, germs, and corporations
To the great malevolence
Perhaps gods are just those people
At a great distance.
Now everyone is a terrorist--
Artists, environmentalists, anti-globalizationists

America responds with war
Afghanistan—Iraq—Anywhere
Rearrange Texas beside Uzbekistan
So the boys can pipe together a barbecue

Indian massacring, puritan promulgators
No tradition to limit the force—

Join it. Why hate America
Greed, excessive wealth while
The multitude starve
One billion dying from starvation
Another billion dying from excess

Bin Laden's message is clear
Frontal assault is out of the question
Imperialism will be terrorized into obsolescence
America's message is rhetoric
Thinly veiled Oil Imperialism
There are no good governments


2.

The Korean peninsula:
Glass pane windows
With pictures of rice and meat
Stores on second floors
Neon and colors
Mostly red and orange
Line the avenues

Korea, so neat and organized
Even the jail looks like a hotel.


3.

Big tits
On a thin 32 inch back
Gian can see bra size
From across the room
She's a healthy C
Almost a D
He's insane with delight
After spending time
In A cup land
She's got exactly the body he likes

He'd like to rub an egg
All over her, then crack it
Into a glass of water—
See her energy
Plasma mosque with minarets
Transparent around a yellow dome yoke

His form of virile shamanism

Like a drumstick
Hitting the snare
And the rim
At the same time
A sound between
A g and a k
Not exactly either
Like a Korean consonant
To an American ear
Pop popping, pop-popping
Imagine if popped corn
Were an egg
And sleep was like the Internet
Get on-line, upload and download

Pop pop, pop pop
It's A Tourists Point Of View
To be so enamored
Asian organization
Mexican ruins
African deserts
American moneymaking
Tight Asian stomachs
It's Suprema's first night
And she likes Gian
The soft, deep-set Mediterranean eyes
Like a sea lapping at a shore
Sweet-smelling Laurel trees
But she always thought sex
Would come with love

Instead the money's
In the Mamasan's pocket
Back at the bar while
She's bent over
On a vulgar couch.
He cracks an egg on her ass


4.

Violins are instrumental mosquitoes
Musical syringes
Malaria the alto
West Nile the soprano
Dengue the tenor
Flu the bass—now it's the birds to watch for—
So simple in their complexity
Kept in case slung around teenage shoulder
Little Silbia (not Sylvia)—with her white stockings
Like man's fantasy, saddle shoes—takes her lesson

Kept in cage
Stretched on altar
By four Ajpuob
Victim takes the obsidian slice
Through the skin, tissue and artery
Plumed heart
Spurts blood while pulsing
Presented to the god of war,
Smoking Frog.

Blood smelling of sulfur
Splatters the stone carving:
Inventor of new war-style
Smoking Frog
Used spears
—The deer-hunting weapon—
Against humans;
His spear and loincloth
Simple white
The color of peace
In one culture
War in another.

Next
Some blood sprinkled
On a Tlayuda of deer meat
Blood in place of chili
Now chili in place of blood

Every time you use salsa
think
blood in place of chili

So we think

Geroge Clinton in his bed sheet-like regalia
leans into the microphone:
think, it aint illegal yet!

Gian approaches a bargirl
She says her name is Suprema
It can't be real he says
She laughs, shows him her necklace
Of gold with the name
Gold on brown skin
She's short close up.
He doesn't know
Her brother dated
Six prostitutes
At the same time
They spent all his money
So he paid one credit card
With another, and that with another
And so on
Till his debt swallowed him whole
And Silbia became Suprema

She takes him to a table
To discuss price. Price is not
Negotiable, and not much
To his Euro dollar.

Gian held her in place
His hands around her stomach
Thumbs on hips bones

He pulls out and tries to
Put his liquid on her made up face

Moctezuma was stoned
By his own people
Because he let Cortez in
When his army was greater
He chose peace over pain
Tried to mollify the god with gifts

Suprema directs Gian to her tits

Moctezuma played both sides
God and mortal
Nahuatl and Spanish

Cortez asked: "Why didn't you dodge it?"
Moctezuma shrugged.

Gian collapses besider her
He holds her dew-covered plums
While they cuddle
His cock rests in egg plasma
Trickling down her ass crack

Moctezuma lost everything.
It wasn't really the stone that killed him

There are three sides to every revolution
Oppressor, Rebel, and Controller
One of who is invisible
And controls both sides
helps them decimate each other

There are three sides to each war
Attacker, Defender, and Victim

The Maya are still not conquered.
Muslims won't let Westerners have peace
Until they have it

The Smoking Mirror is there
Deep in the jungles

There comes a time,
Question your mirrors.
June 2007
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