TNG reader and contributor, Greg Marzullo, who is best described as a yoga fiend, dance freak, and queer pagan who lives in Maryland with his charming, red-headed hubby and their temperamental Japanese Chin, submits this original poem describing his reactions to recent nationally policy decisions.

I first wrote this poem in the wake of the 2004 election, because I was stunned that such a large majority of people would choose to vote for Dubya, thereby giving us another four years of foreign diplomacy disaster, ecological idiocies, and theocratic policy. Tied into all this was my rage as a queer man about being used as a punching bag by “people of faith” in the culture wars. I came across this poem again recently and realized how appropriate it is for the way I feel about Proposition 8 and the other attendant laws being enacted against us around the country.

Read the poem and some background below the fold…

As a background note, Kali is a major goddess of the Hindu pantheon, and her name derives from the word Kala, which means “time.” In this case, time as the devourer of all things. Her iconography is pretty graphic as she wears a garland of severed heads around her neck and another of dangling arms around her waist. Many believe the heads to be symbols of human ego and the arms to represent karma. Although smeared with gore and delighting in destruction, some devotees of Kali see her as being willing to go to the darkest, ugliest places in our world and work through the hard shit in order to make things better.

Kali’s Dance

I want to dance like Kali,
My long hair braided,
My dark skin painted the crimson color of blood,
Swaying hips jangling with gape-mouthed heads,
Multiple arms whirling with the wind,
A wonder cunt that all men desire
(But look out boyz
‘Cuz this cunt
Keeps what it eatz)
And the power to dance.

Slowly, I start to twirl,
Coaxing, cajoling, seducing, slithering,
My arms come alive,
Snakes wind up my legs
Flames ignite my palms.
Spinning now faster, I go,
Braids taking flight
With lightning in their knots,
Fire engulfing my feet.

Kali Kundalini rising up
Through my sex, my gut, my power, my heart,
Tearing my throat with screams or rage,
Obliterating my mind with thoughts of change,
And igniting my crown with a ring of flame.

Eyes flashing bolts of fury,
I find the religious hypocrites praying to their weak god,
Lifting their hands in supplication,
Smiling their simpering, sickening, sin-free smiles.

I shriek with delight as their eyes widen in fear,
And I let them run,
Tripping over their robes,
Calling out to their god of hatred, bigotry, sensuality-less sensuality;
Giggling, I allow them their head start
Before I pull out my sword of flame.

Spinning, twirling, flying through the sky
Smoking with blood
I land before them
And cry out with joy as flames blossom in their beards,
Their skin curls like parchment,
Veins smoke,
Bones crack,
Teeth turn to black,
And my impervious feet
Dance on the corpses,
Grinding them paste
While I laugh in ecstasy.

So.
I can not dance.

I will not braid my hair
Nor stain my skin the crimson color of blood,
Because until I can hold the love,
I can not hold the rage.

Mother Kali does dance in the blood of the righteous,
She does set fire to the place of hate,
But she does it because her love is so great.

Pulling no punches,
Burning with truth,
She turns the world over to make it anew.
I would dance in a glut of revenge
For my brothers and sisters struck down by the right,
Revenge against “people of faith”,
Revenge against church corporations
Who spread hate behind compassionate conservatism
(Whatever the fuck that means),
Revenge against those who have raised their hands
Their knives
Their guns
Their bottles
Their words
Their dollars
Their votes
Against queers.

So I can not dance,
AND HOW I WOULD LOVE TO!