Debussy twinkles through my ear
Preserved like champagne
like the epic of birds courting each other
like sunlight sifting through virga
descending soft and true and timeless
upon whatever dares grow upon this shifting planet
I haven’t read much poetry lately
But have made efforts to listen to opera
In my mind this is a fair trade
Like Wagner will lift me and nail me
Crucify and resurrect me
Like a good poem
will do
God grant me the strength of Ishtar,
The “fear me” sexuality of a goddess who is twins only
With Death.
I have no great fame
No stone walls, statues, or shrines dedicated
to the hearts of men I have claimed
No, I am not carved in clay and stolen
From my homeland during war,
Only to be recovered, broken into fourteen immaculate pieces
In the trunk of some thief’s car.
Please don’t put me in a museum.
Bear me away in a casket of lapis lazuli
Float me downriver on a bed of woven reeds, adorned
in golden jewelry, naked but for the skin of a lion
(just one of my previous brushes with death)
Rub oils into my hair and whisper words into my ear
Until a maggot crawls out of my nose:
Then you will know that I am dead.
When I am dead, let there be poetry
And Debussy, and Wagner
And most of all, let them eat cake
To remember a time when the animal in man could be abandoned
Only at the loins of a woman
A harlot, voluptuous virgin
Who knows what she is, and takes it
Who knows how the world moves, and spins it
Who knows her place, and tastes it
Let me know a time like that
Even if only
In death.
