Anchor

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…)