My mind is made of chariots of galloping horses             
driven by a headless horseman 
blind to pain
blind to innocent longing.
In the fields where I am led
those who refuse
and those in whom the waters of Genesis rise
churning with desire 
are trampled
without a heaven above
without God.
My mind – chariots, chariots, hounded
and hostile to each other
following at the heels of my older brother,   
they are pierced and adorned with the nose rings of my mother
and I with mine.*