ISHTAR.
After days of being driven in the desert sun
like livestock but with cruelty—
hook in nose, whip to back, no falling behind
we arrive at our fabled destination
and I think no thoughts of my own. I can’t…
because the gate is designed to make up my mind.
She is blue like the sea and squirming with monsters
she belongs to Ishtar, trampler of lions,
the warrior goddess who does take prisoners
lots of them, lots of us, our lot has been cast
to enter her house, her city, her keep
her womb—and be reborn in her image.
It looms tall and stands out from the mud brick city
as a warning of hollowed, deathly hollows
to those who will not kiss her signet ring—
see the dragon, the lion, the bull,
and sense fertility, love, sex, war, frenzy.
Amalgamate! or seal your fate as a suffering servant.
After days of being driven in the desert sun
like a way to make a dollar but with cruelty
billboard, web funnel, attention traded for soul—
we arrive at our ancient lamentation
and I think no thoughts of my own. I can’t…
because the gate is burned in my mind across time.
I’ve seen her before, step down from her lions’ back
and swallow a culture whole for a snack—
while blood drips down her supermodel chin
she stares you dead in the soul and grins
at a people who long ago lost the word “sin”
and crafted gods of ourselves and cannot begin
to understand the danger of her city.
Ishtar… whispers her bed is not far from the crowds
and when she takes you there, she devours—
eats you alive and left with glazed dead eyes
breathing but some other thing lives inside your skin
and you are looking for a next product or purchase.
Assimilate or feel the full weight of empire’s
ability to bleed you out without pity.
And worse, this generation thinks the flood is a myth
and Ishtar’s gate is full of corporation and brands
or Amazon orders you don’t remember placing.
all while tsunami bombs fall on stretches of beach,
that would be picturesque save for our overreach—
and we are still haunted by ancient waters.
Because it’s no longer about a warrior’s code.
You claim your kleos in an entirely different mode—
it’s the brand on your fleece, it’s the new lease
barely afforded it so that at Friday night lights
you’re in that car in plain sight— it’s subtle. so we carry on
but it is a whole lot harder to leave Babylon.