Sunday, January 1, 2023



Beyond Orgasm And Belief


Time is God passing through me

with hurricane mirrors

in the weight of sunshine.

Time becomes

photos in misplaced envelopes

with names we’ve mostly forgotten

remnants in a crumbling catalog

turning digital membrane

then glorious air jazz

searing the senses

over flowering cacti and desert daises

where the odd deer walk the wild beyond


where I can feel grateful

a sense of wisdom

moments of peace

where a memory blurred into everything

becomes a light that blinds us into one

where random chime breezes

breathe positively

beyond orgasm and beliefs


like God, you know

passing through me.


Poetic Science


Infinity is connection

to the process of changes.


We are but atoms in a molecule

of a single ply microscopic thread

in the DNA of the Firmament.


Collectively every life

past and present

makes one quasar flash to Pluto.


We are bacteria on a finger

of the Universe.


The Earth from Space

is one breathing organism

poisoning it’s blood and breath.


The moon is our child

and mother.


The Sun revolves

around an Event Horizon

an object so massive

that no matter or radiation

can escape its gravitational pull

eventually disappearing

into a Black Hole…


a math beyond our understanding…

or God.


The End


Morning rainbows last longer

in slanting Fall light,

gives twilight of hope

in all directions

and sensual dimensions.


Your companion in bed

is machinery and love

awash in white noise,

tidal breath bi-pap and

oxygen concentrator.


The heart swells as birds

suddenly rise together,

flutter specifically beyond the sky.


You go joyfully

fading into the sun,

burning into light.


Whether or not

you ever yawned an Om

or mumbled a Baptist hymn,

now you realize



Into The Prayer Wheel



the unaware soul of a child

or a plant that dies in the moonlight

the scene is pumped with mist

and color,

beckon you arise

to the sound of metal


caught between the worlds

eyes open to thought clouds

blending red into night

nearly fearing

only glancing

before the clouds cease

you feel souls meet,

relay a thought in love


give us something

for our fears

not the dark and the needle

give us something

like the mist knows


My Religion


I was raised by paradox

and Southern tunnel vision

where God was a magic word

who mostly brought beatings

when we gave a damn.


There was power in a book

of weird translations

that made no sense

that everyone swore by…

The bigger and fancier the Bible

the holier you were esteemed.


Fancy church ladies had

flowers and lace hugging

unregulated misogyny

and rules few followed

but claimed they’d die for ….


Even as a child in Sunday School

on a missionary track

I could never make sense

of the Trinity

or how God as Jesus

could “die for us”

or how dying could

take away sins we

didn’t know we’d made.

Seeking clarification

itself was a sin…

was the devil whispering.


I remained “a good girl”

until college and Philosophy 101

when my entire belief system

crashed into history.

Stolen myths. Borrowed bullshit

with names changed.

God was a plagiarist

mean and proud 


warring for possessions

under holy pretense

and a hypocrite

breaking the rules

enforced on us.

Of course He was us.

We made him in our image.


Yet I hold reverence

for the mystery of Life:

infinity that boggles the mind…

our webbed connections

and roots of Love.

I call this God.

I believe.




BELINDA SUBRAMAN has been published in 100s of magazines, printed and online, academic and small presses. Her archives are housed at University of New Mexico, Albuquerque. Her latest book is Left Hand Dharma from (Unlikely Books) but she has a new manuscript ready for a publisher. In 2020 Belinda began an online show and journal called GAS: Poetry, Art & Music which features interviews, readings, performances and art shows available free at .