20090525

ROUND DIRGE FOR A DARK EGG, PART I.

Drama body, dead heart of a dead hawk : however you happen to fall, I am happy in all ways happy. The moon is a plate for you / You drool. Over small servings of slices of wild bird, bludgeoned to death with a club, to boil in blood broth and salt, not me. What a splayed out wet mess of a meal, not warm, but you drool. Hot gold sun wheel in the round, I see, hang hang-on and hanged for what crime, and I will not be you. No crow in you. No caw, no me. And all the word I need is no, and for you to yell it loud, so yell it if you must and do it now. So scare me now with your no. Say no crow, no you. Oh, but I won't be gone. I have no place to go to be gone, but I do have someplace far, and that place I can be, so go on, go: yell your no. If I hear it now, with fire and mine, I can run and may. And if I ran, that voice won't too, so I may choose to run now, soon. The small touch of the word, that's all it will be, to sink you. And that snake sinks too, it follows you, and I won't dive to sink me and reach it, to suck my teeth on it, or make it tender and mine. The hard, bronze scales lay flat against it, so it should sink, and maybe so should you. You and it should die like I die, for you to dig a hole for me. And lay me in it with no gray sound like snow, no dead hawk heart or crow, lay me down. Atop the mound of me, a stone, a name. It says, mind me please / It will say, trip here for me to see, or plan to stay here on me. You had to choose / I plan to die / You chose wrong / And I died by my plan to die, so lay me in a hole you’ll dig, one dug from you for me. But what is this dark egg on me? Take it please, it hatched all wrong, all wrong - all wrong, and I asked it to go alone. But it won't, so God, get it please. I can't watch it here on me. The more I watch, the less there is of me, so pick it up and go, get off of me. No she-star bore me from her, like this egg was not borne from me, for I was too sick a child, I was such a bad child. No one needed my spell to start, and no one needed my hand, left or right: not one, neither. But the one gem I had and have, the heart, is gold, oh, I feel it and it’s gold. It can, it will, it must, it has, it did, with all the gold pride of it and shine of it, and it isn't cold. I asked to take the pill, the round of it, to grow the gold of my heart in me, and the old man, the wise cold man, said it might heal me, so it may and still might grow gold. Rapid around the flesh of it / We all will die for a rock above our heart that's dead. I will pray for mud and you, and you will cry for you, and it all will have been my wish for mud. And, oh: I have a pill for you too, you, in the name of an axe, to cut it all off. I know you must not want it now. And say, will you ever want it now? Oh, no, not ever and never, not ever now, no never. So put it off, say no crow. No hollow me in you, your dead heart of hawk / of moon / of mound / my kiss / no crow. And sleep your sleep, you - you will not ever have it when you're dead.

No comments: