There is the tree--
it juts out of the earth,
a sword in the stone.

Alone in a field
of green grass, alone
amongst the flowers,
the emboldened
plumage.

The leaves, greeny finery,
ancient and reborn
age after age,
sag beneath the weight
of the breeze
and the clouds.

It is the wild wine
(not your whiskey,
nor your beer)
that sets me to singing
in the sullen afternoon.

The bottle
(heavy in my bony hand,
full of blushing ambrosia)
tilts back to feed
my gullet
swollen and red
as a fat, over-ripe leech.

O but this,
my Sermon on the Mount,
is one of dulled ecstasy
and ****** craving,
craving the touch of skin,
the ecstasy of the hunt.

Beautiful nectar,
bounty of the grove,
wellspring of violent
visions,
I drink and am drunk
on you,
elegant muse-water,
portentous deluge.

We all have something to give
and you have given me your all.

This room, sunlight streaming
through dusty windows,
has become the seat of the soul,
the altar to ambiguity.

Do your bones creak?
Do your muscles ache
in the afterglow?

Gather up your things,
everything you brought here,
and disperse--
your gentle face stabs my
heart.

You were such a masterpiece,
such a beautiful work of art,
stinking of forests and ***** water.

I find you ugly now,
a wasted bag of bones,
and I must commit these
words to paper
to make a monument
to my own periodic
misogyny.

O Reaper,
dark jewel in the shimmering sea of night
sickly flower blooming in the garden
pale wanderer of the doom-bound desert,
weave for me a tapestry
and drape it over the blinking stars.

O Death,
sweet fragrance of the morning
rapping on the windowsill,
compose for me a symphony
to haunt my ears as I sleep.

O Ghost,
gentle and geriatric in the dim moonlight,
sweep off the collecting dust
and blow it into the four winds
to carry us off on the backs
of the eagles.

O Ghoul,
your silhouette as the sunlight dims,
carve for me a juniper tree
so that I may dance around it
and welcome thee.

O Plague,
humming in the breath of the insects
crawling on the furs of the beasts,
pour for me a strong drink
to quench the flames of my disease.

O Maiden,
creeping into cronehood as the clocks stop
drifting down the clear stream into the damp
floating with the smoke to be imprisoned
multi-faced and schizophrenic,
sing for me a rhapsody
a hymn for my church of undoing.

O Glacier,
still and monumental,
melt into the sea of shining
and polish for me a mirror
to see clearly a glimpse
of mortality.


O Thanatos,
born at the beginning of time
flowering into youthful beauty
falling corpse-like in the rocks,
kiss the clouds and the trees
and write for me some poetry
to ease me into the long sleep.

Sweet uncertainty;
Double-edged sword
Of love and hate;
The taste of
Tongues and poison.

There is blood
In the sunrise
And blood
In the ocean;
The waves recede,
Then come back again.

In our youth
We were bold
And the stars bowed
To our heat.

The shadows flicker
Across a dim room,
The pipes cough,
There are locusts
In the dry walls.

Our hearts are big
As God and pulse
In the vanity of summer.

Venom drips from
The trees
Of our ceiling
Canopy;
Catch it in your
Mouth.

Sweet Star
silver & shuddering
spinning in the
inky black

Sweet hawk-headed
lord robed & ready
chanting in the
endless night

Io Io
Pan Pan

Wreathed in flowers,
feet wreathed in fire,
eyes twinkle dark,
shining from the lyre

Io Pan
Io Pan Pan

Sun burning red
and pregnant,
possibility, paradox

Io Pan Pan
Io Pan

Sun giving life,
father gives the Word,
He taketh away
just as He giveth
and He giveth
and maketh the grass
green

Io Io Pan
Io Pan Pan

He gives the fire,
He taketh it away

Io Pan
Pan Pan Io

From over the sea
the stars blinking
with rapidity

Io Pan
Io Pan Pan

Lust in the rivers,
hate in the mountains,
the hills are sighing,
the Nymphs are naked

Io Pan

The moon, mother,
matronly marvel
give us the sight
true sight to see
with shining gaze
perfume flowers
in ***** ****** daze

Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
Pan

The marble thigh,
the glass eye,
bathed in blood
on bridal bed of
burning

Io Pan
Pan Pan
Io Pan Pan

Envy the golden python,
throw thyself
towards the golden dawn
bathed in the flowers
of perfumed fawn

Io Pan
Io Pan Pan

Thrusting sword into ferns
of folding, the damp, the wicked
the opened eye
the one hand clapping

Pan
Pan Pan
Io

Reside in the grasp
of the vermillion snake
the vermin moving
in meadows
thorny meadows
lie silent in silver shadows

Io Io Pan

Flowers on the gypsy rod,
fleshy gate of God
bleeding and burning

Io Pan
Io Pan Pan