Marguerite Porete (c. 1250 - 1310)

in heritage

we are both french

but lady i am

centuries of distortion

removed from you

                  *

today we have evolved

as souls enmeshed

with dense reason

so fucked we fuck ourselves

for heaven's sake

we go to war to make

the world safe for kings

for gold merchants

and oil sheiks

who transport pots

of bribes to tickle

the ego of our emperor

                  *

i care nothing for

the clerics who killed you

don't want to record their names

care nothing for the pedigree

of supplicants who stacked the wood

who set the torches to the pyre

to erase you for what you wrote

we have enough priests

conjuring sermons of contempt

that no sooner uttered are best forgotten

enough sycophants erecting memorials

to their masters with deeds of rot 

enough masked and hollow men

who point their guns

at those who disagree with them

i care nothing

as i doze and

your words fall

on my lap

as ghosts of sweet blue

smoke rise from

this morning's fire

                  *

thirteen

the cursed digits

of human luck

of human misfortune

we read your small book

ascribed to that numbered century

with its caveats and introductions

with its warning labels

etched on the cover

with its corruptions in the guise

of editorial intermediations

i fear

you would not

believe

our translation

even with the alms

and little mercies of

the discounted price

the free delivery

the same-day printing