While men lay like
Serpents in Hera's
Kingdom,
The sky remains blue.
And tooth-aches still
come to children
What omens did you see last night?
What language in its bloom?
Some untruth
or the mad woman's
run across the temple
with her small lover?
In some of the holy nooks,
erections rise like magnets and yeast
while in your own hair, lies air,
and the fragments of a strange place.
Now
Then
What do you do
with yourself and
this man's breath?
Except spreading it like a prism
over your body.
Each ray-
poet,
filth,
monkey,
ringworm,
television,
deity,
equus.
When the sun has left the eyelids
only in the cadavers
of these tides
that flutter swallows deep inside you
will you find them.
Like
answers that were
strangled young.
