Wednesday, April 29, 2015

sky mandrake poem



tender whippoorwill
today your hazlitt carapace rapiers the gong
our collective human heart
whose festive and incomparable spokesperson
is Ovid's mironic Circe



curs and baboons
cluster round her feet
as she holds out her brew
to sailors in an open boat
which drink it from their smaller bowls
their posture is that of communicants
who participate as theoros
in the mist of a red mass



Cavendum a meretricibus



Circe is no woman
but rather
a circle
a circus
red cocoon
set up as a cathedral
where beings are transformed
by pleasure
and all its secret
others



and weather beasts have reason
and down from the waists
they are governments



whose emblems
media cups
as youth and beauty
emitted from its nubs
and taken up again
by its koto-faced spider hands



sky mandrake poem