Pagtulog na lang ang pahinga
Pag gising, ikaw ang laman ng isip, ngunit
Pagkapikit ng mga mata
Pag-ibig mo pa rin ang hanap sa panaginip.

Sa gabi'y isang bangungot;
Sa araw'y malabong imahinasyon
Samantalang ang pinakamasalimuot—
Sabik akong magkatotoo lahat ng 'yon.

The darkness of oxblood naugahyde booths barely steeped
in feeble candle light
Cocktails upon cocktails and cigarettes until we realize,
my companion and I,
That we have been completely blocked in
No chance of escape
Not even to ***
So we’re basically sliding out to nowhere.

In time the tabletop becomes covered
with the rings of dripping condensation
from Guinness cans.
Wet ring upon ring sparkle and
At times aluminum is slammed down upon the table,
And not at all casually.
You see, we were being marked
as theirs
A mighty squadron of faux suede heads
blocking access so
that no **** Yank may approach

(and this is Hollywood)
They might as well have hung a Union Jack)

These two birds
We were territories to be given
To Her Majesty.
I’m Hope and She’s Glory.
Or is it.....

They keep announcing to us that
“Diana is dead.”
And we keeping replying “yes, we know,
the tv is on,” pointing behind us.

Earlier that night
we sat on the floor
At the coffee table
Snorting narrow lines of *******
with CNN on in the background
They announce twice as we lean back and wipe our nostrils that
Diana, Princess of Wales
has been in a motor crash
and has broken her wrist.

Well that *****.
A broken wrist in Paris.
We returned our focus back
to the coffee table
and the announcer comes back
this time with a completely different tone
Sombre
Really sombre
He states
Diana, Princess of Wales
Is Dead.

Dead?
We announced to each other
with jinx simultaneity and incredulity.
It was just her wrist?

Once at the bar we made cracks
About off-shore bank accounts
receiving wire transfers from the Queen.

That previous summer in the first food aisle of
Rock and Roll Ralph’s
I turned towards the sunlight and
saw her image on an American tabloid
Displayed in the point of sale racks
At checkout
There were two rather fuzzy photos
Shining golden hair on a turned feminine head
A blue maillot
A diving board off a yacht
Arms wrapped in the Sea
And I thought softly to myself
“Oh no.”
But I can’t even tell you why.

But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild,
      Else of our ***, why feigned they those nine
      And poesy made Calliope’s own child?                                                Anne Bradstreet

Huntress, fill my pleading glass !
Let this marksman’s blood be merry.
Whether we shoot hind or ***,
Hail our wet preliminary.

   Having brought to birth such brave quadruplets,
   Let us toast the midwife with our couplets.

Sweet Diana pours her rounds:
Tawny Port and Shooting Sherry.
Hares now flee the baying hounds
For their country sanctuary.

   Thine the night, oh bright and savage huntress;
   Lead us to the quarry, chaste Artemis.

Conejito, hide yourself
From the charging adversary
Who would change your pelt for pelf;
(All close shaves are cautionary).

   Forgive our clanging gong and sounding brass;
   They serve to drive the quarry from the grass.

Healing balm: such sporting frolic,
Dares us to stay sedentary;
Banishing our melancholic
State, her bright apothecary!

   Wild huntress, let us know you as the Greeks
   And quiver as our heart your arrow seeks.

Toast we now the careless hunt;
Spoonerists wax luminary.
Visions of the hairless ****
Make my lay discretionary.

Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes

a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared

flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines

I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues

stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs

faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around

flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath  
to the hunger of my own wolves

I feel the old gods in me breathe.
Subtle hands, contracting intercostals,
feminine fingers that scream and wail when I let men with ill intent come near me -
feminine fingers that announce themselves as Athena, Diana.
Do you have a legacy?
I feel Nefertiti, Osiris, Iris, clench their fists in my gut when I cry in my sleep and wake up angry -
Hecate spits and twitches her paws when my undulating heart lacks the oil that flourished during her reign.
Wings over me, the contorted body of Nike. Protective but irate.
A shout, and a burst blood vessel in the corner of my eye -
by the aging moon this tumult of Dido's wild ichor inside me grows...
Have you ever used your voice?
Athena's words in my head telling me to scream -
Roar of the old gods telling me to run -
Their tongues in the sand and in the grass blades.
Child of flesh and hard times.
An unknown voice from the mouth of my mother commands me - 'take firm grasp of the magic within you'
Perhaps I am too afraid to reply.

Diana of the woods and
Wild animals, as swift as winds
That rustle leaves, her muscles are as
Mighty as the brown bear, her legs are as
Steady and strong as the wolf dog that yips
At her swiveling hips, her motion as graceful
As the rushing rivers, yet as fierce as a tornado’s
Spiral, pouncing, bounding, she cuts the air as sharp
As the arrow that springs from her bow, eyes transfixed
On her target—

Diana, goddess of the woods and
Wild animals, captured in black bronze
And displayed atop marble like a prize won.

I blame Diana, the hunt, the game.
He was a fool for her wily ways.
I blame the girl, the victor of the tale.
She gets the spoils, I only fail.

He says he needs time.
But time doesn't wait.

Princess Diana came back last week
She wore all her pretty clothes
And looked stunning in her hats
She went about her ways as best she could
But there was no hiding all the sorrow in her eyes.

The luckiest girl in all the world
Chosen to one day be the Queen
And then demoted to a brood mare
By a Prince who was secretly a ****,

Her fairy tale had not even got it’s start
When she found out how it would end,
And she was trapped by tea towels
With her face imprinted on them.

She delivered all that was required of her
And even though the song was ended
Managed to write a second verse
Which the conductor wasn’t keen to play.

Yet the music gave her legs to stand on
And the tune grew to a symphony
As she performed it for the World
Who found the melody delicious
And her solos so profound.

Lady Di is back again,
That simple girl who saved herself
To become the lamb for royal slaughter
By a horde of calculating courtesans
Who knew she didn’t matter from the start.

Left to slumber peacefully,
On her private island
Lo these twenty years,
Safe from flashing cameras
And the machinations of the Crown
Diana may be dead but her legend is alive.
ljm