Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into an artifice of eternity.

Friday, November 27, 2015


~After Paul Celan~

That five-footed freak
is a spawnless hybrid,
yet I am its offspring –

son of a circus simian,
tuxed in white yarns
with a face of hands,

shrieking at the strum
of exalted strings
that thrum and bind,

but then snap under
the dumb blade to lie
like slackened lines.

Who sired the bark
the puppets sang
that turned from stone

the uncanny granite?
Not Medusa
And not I lost in I,

Scanning what cries
from the maelstrom
for the sake of a sound.

Who was it then?
Your eunuch self
walking on his head

to find blue breath
in the black heart
of a sterile silence?

Go naked in the air.
What do you find there?
Voices? Hands? Or Feet?

A lamp or a mirror,
or your own leers
in the freak show?

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