Published: 22 June 2026

The killing and dismemberment of Osiris

Gods are murdered in ritual,
with family in attendance.
If not as executioners, then witnesses.
The god must be torn apart
thrown into all that is and is not.
Sister brides always grieve
journey to join the god together,
as he has always been put back together.

Osiris was guilty of murdering his sister wife.
Dismembering, spreading her parts
about the world, creating abundant rivers,
without consent or participation of her family,
who were also his family, though neither he nor Isis,
that was her name, cared much for them.

According to ritual, Osiris reassembled Isis,
but she wasn’t the same as before.
She didn’t love him as much, she complained,
it was difficult to understand her needs and moods.
She said his judgment was a figment
of his imagination and not a real fact.
it’s debatable whether gods have figments
or are not already beyond imagination.

It’s odd how ritual death and dismemberment
can really spoil the mood, cause ruptures between
lovers whose only crime is looking for a good time,
but maybe gods aren’t allowed good times,
maybe good times occur elsewhere and there’s only
death and resurrection,
over and over and over and over and over.

Isis discovers Osiris’ heart buried
in the desert of indifference,
hugs him to her breast,
speaks, Your caricature of obedience
makes You believe I changed.
You believe You’re right and wrong.
I changed
but so have You.
We both give birth to mighty rivers.
We both are mountains.
We both die in the desert,
with each other daily.
I will always find and restore You.

Wearing his green mask
of resurrection and remembering,
Death replies,
I know You,
but,
I love You.

More Poetry:

Paper time

Paper is a Time Machine, but it only goes backward in time.
Don’t ask where it begins, I don’t know where to begin,
but I know when you read you’re transported back in time.
I’m certain of that, but not much else. Is it part of the pencil

Radish

Santa Claus of the garden,
you bring snap of winter
to the mouth, crisp frosty heat.
Some call you icicle, watermelon,
breakfast, French, pink, orange, purple
(dirt had a real grip on that one.)

Mom on deck

Call for Mom.
She’s needed on deck;
no one else will do.
Who could possibly replace her?
Santa Claus or God?

Epochs of taste

Paleocene had a light tawny appearance and a semi sweet palate.
Eocene was the name of donkey in a play by Sophocles that became an eponym for stink.

Related

Paper time

Paper time

Paper is a Time Machine, but it only goes backward in time.
Don’t ask where it begins, I don’t know where to begin,
but I know when you read you’re transported back in time.
I’m certain of that, but not much else. Is it part of the pencil

read more
Radish

Radish

Santa Claus of the garden,
you bring snap of winter
to the mouth, crisp frosty heat.
Some call you icicle, watermelon,
breakfast, French, pink, orange, purple
(dirt had a real grip on that one.)

read more

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