Self Portrait as Vajrakilaya

Blue like Coltrane playing Naima, deep blue,
Indigo, Midnight Blue like the song,
I mean,  the one by Lou Gramm not the one by
Melissa Manchester. Blue-black like that portrait that 
Joni painted of Miles, that blue. 

Standing on a lotus, six feet at the end 
Of six legs pin down crushed demons 
Now subdued. Demons that once disturbed
My mind, now controlled  as I now hold
In my arms my lover Dipachakra.  

The nipple of her left breast turgid against 
my chest. She stands on one leg as the other 
Wraps around my waist and I'm hard inside her.
Tumescent like the golden vajras in two of my 
Right hands, bolts of lightning imposed 
As scepters as indestructible as diamonds. 

One of my left hands performs the subjugation 
Mudra,  and another lightly wraps its fingers
around a trident with heads in different states of decay.
It emits wisdom flames throughout the three thousand 
world systems.

My other two hands grasp a meteorite kilaya,
The thunder dagger, the phurba that destroys at the touch,
And we make love. My white face and my red face,
On either side of my head see all as my blue face
Gazes into Dipachakras eyes, and we make love.
Our slick skins slap in wild fury, and we make love
In the blue-black space of the universe for eternity.

Eternity is just a concept,  a thought that is just
Another drop of sweat that rains from our minds
And becomes steam rising from the fire that
Engulfs us. The night sky glows and becomes clouds 
At the tips of the razors that are my wings 
Which fan the fires like a sirocco.

Even the winds are blue, my wings are silver-blue
It is a blue-black hole that the winds fly through.
My kilaya destroys all concepts and so eternity is
Devoured as if the jaws of a tiger ripped
Its gray fluid puffed flesh of rot, and it found
death as disappearance into sapphire.

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