22 Apr 2008

4 psalms for lilith

 

cutie-pie kewpie

in eden

softly seamless

raw pink

unfurrowed flesh gleaming

in the cool new sun

naming

the beasts each

name a tightly

cinched & sequined leash

she combs her

hair to listless silken flyaways

and lays claim

to shed fangs and frayed

claws, armoring her defenseless

flesh against its own

permeability. a sickle ‘cross her throat.

adam lays his attenuate

paw across her narrow shoulders

and she wishes for calluses. she thinks

of one day

a hanging lank & patterned fabric of silk & satin

upon a bent wire frame, her

belly distended and ripening

toward erupt

-ion from

a too-familiar wound. the moon

drools

its light down to limn

her arc

and she feels

the heat

of his eye

upon once raw now

sun-baked

skin.

once, that graceful crane, it lived

upon her wrist

and wrote

with bone

stylus upon its pimpled breast

(that men

would sink

their teeth

into)

with ink, her children’s iron milk

and spilled

brilliant dye, to attire her

.her crimson-threaded vestment.

denuded of her quills, she needed thus

what, with that asp entwined

‘round root and spine

of her home. her cave within that bole.

fangs deep sunk and drooling

fire. now root

rot and roiling, contort-

ed fingers clawing black

earth beside

lake of sky

where she pours from

eye & thigh

her child (and its
children) fled

fledged to

sky fear-

full and still

pouring iron out upon the fallow earth now.

salt sown.

dragonteeth.

to birth unfaithful children.

mother you were

nigh-

twind soughing

were

what might

have been

what we

end with.

you tore your house down

your tree pois(on)ed

and fled

unfathomable burden

to birth the mares

of night

maws foaming

rolling eyes

hooves throwing

fire

as the first

flailing beast

all sleekly gleaming muscle beneath

mucus

kicks free from

placental slick

you know some day another child

will ride

that broad black back.

mother, your daughters

are dancing

beneath veils

full-body veils: the stiff lace

& underwire

of bra

diaphanous satin

of panties

billowing silk

blouse & skin

tight blue –

jeans, black

ankle-length robe &

black all

ways black

veil – and last –

last that

ever un-

seen one, the last

seven times they have tried

to cast

to dance

out from beneath

only to have

their heads

served up on a platter

for distinguished

Johns

that last, that glossy

stock, that

celluloid, that

billboard pulp

& clothing

store –

mother, your daughters

have danced so long

they weary, I know

of the dance, I know

because I too grow

tired of counting their steps

zu bird, catalogued

and taxanomied

your face grows long

bone beak become

feline muzzle

silk soft and wet

nose scenting

distant reek

of blood

your bone

talons sunk

deep in her flesh

you fled

growing her

cherubic pinions

(once lion

now child

of god)

for her

your exodus undertaken

to wastes of Edom

where all the demons of Semitic

naturalism (screech

owl, hyena)

had taken re-

fuge to forge your

new home, as countless

daughters have done, stepping

aside for new

mothers (they

are reading

Lolita in Tehran

mother mine how you would have loved

her, American daughter

in your Aramaic home)

to take

flight

and make a throne

for another mother

goddess lover daughter

wife

how you would

have o

how you

wood.

4 comments:

cocaine jesus said...

excellent piece of work!

Robert said...

just incredible John...printing it up as a keeper

fissuresofmen said...

mmmmm...hardcopy...mmmm

TICTAC said...

epical and suggestive. a great read!