Mother Kālī
I saw her once. It was in a basement club in the sixth arrondissement; she squatted on the bloated corpse of her husband, her four hands raking a series of men around her, tongue waiting on her chin. Her chest was skeletal, naked; her hair serpentine.
I looked into her eyes, and there was nothing there but the fire at the heart of the Universe.
22 Apr 2014