Pregnant, I bathed horns in the dances of marching waves,
The migrating halos of white streams (grapes flowed with gold)
And Zephyrs lit by the blood of dusk whispered to slaves:
‘Absurdity’ — they honed hooks and burrowed trunks to mould;
Bristles arching over my purple eye, tipped in blood,
Squeezed and lactated rusty limbs from the Zeneith’s pen;
Euphoric sloth of anticipation in childhood
Embraced nothing but the vulgar death of raging men!…
I was lead by the June night
And her ruby eyes flowing
Oceans of Indium light;
The tan-pruned gardener mowed
And Osiris came in sight,
All her futures had been mowed…
Sweeping past the weeds and corpses perfume
The June night in her vigil set, howled and groaned
As if the day had passed; her blood and white loom
Poured from the sphere vignette in the fountains mind
Where I was brought to my knees, only to find
My reflection, still, light, buried in her womb;
My fleshy masts, sailing unto blackness, moaned
As the godess decayed in the Sphinx’s tomb.
Her heart peeled upon the horizon,
I lay drifting on veins of blackness;
I sunk my nose and mouth in the one
And birthed silence unto silent’s madness!…
(I have returned, I will meet you soon,
I am no longer two loves in June…)