P Sufenas Virius Lupus
It was the first spear-point wedding.
Set could scarcely settle himself
long enough for the ceremony,
too eager to contend again with Horus.
On one side stood Astarte,
his second bride-to-be,
while fierce Anat was on the other.
Long reeds entwined each wife’s hand
to one hand of the typhonic god.
His strange snout bent to kiss Astarte;
attempting to smile, her lips touched his.
His strange snout bent to kiss Anat;
she put a spear through his left thigh.
At their feast, seventy two of Set’s
closest friends had places at table laid.
The meal? Undressed plates of lettuce.
Astarte, Set, Anat at the head of the table.
Set’s plate had a red dressing on the leaves.
He ate the lettuce, contented, smiling.
“I enjoy this dressing. What is it?”
He ate the lettuce, contented, smiling.
“Anat’s menses” the stuff spoke inside him.
In separate chambers they went to bed.
Set emerged from Astarte’s pleased,
he went to lay with his fourth wife Anat.
She caught his phallus, collected his semen,
tossed it on the floor; it slithered away.
“I will bear no children to you,”
and she put her axe to his foot.
“But you are my wife, and this is our wedding night!”
“I will bear no children to you,”
and she boxed his ears with her shield.
“But you are my wife, and this is our wedding night!”
“I will bear no children to you,”
and she sliced his snout with her knife….
[about 79 1/2 lines missing]
[“I will bear no children] to you,”
and she shot his eyes full of arrows.
“Then at least let me take you from the rear.”
“That is acceptable.”
Thus typhonic intercourse came about.
neosalexandria 