Saturday, December 29, 2007

Worm Ouroborus

Once in a while, some R&R.

Today, for a change, I'm offering a poem I wrote this morning, by way of mentioning that I've added a page to Doremishock.com featuring a mixed bag of poetry I wrote this Spring in China.


Worm Ouroborus

I

There is a serpent underneath my feet.
Asleep, it stirs,
And moves the rocks and earth

Concealed, I might survive this insurrection.
The coward’s way is always quite attractive-
So it seems.

But then,
They say
To always think outside the box.

Should I attempt
To swallow myself-
To disappear in paradise-

…Or is that just a snake oil
For invented maladies?

And if I should succeed
Will I excrete the ego
A hardened, squamous turd
That I’m best rid of?
Flush it down, and walk off
Free and clear?

Mythology reveals
No clear instructions,
Nor does Freud,
Or Jung, or Marx or Engels.

Damn. They’re no friends.

Looks like I’m on my own-
Again.

Solicitation:
Please place suggestions
In the box.

II

I’ve done it-
Independently!
Thrust head between my legs,
And sunk my teeth deep in my ass

…And now I’m rolling downhill, fast.

It’s good because, they say,
Until you hit your bottom,
There’s no overhead.

This is no time to render
Philosophies--warm, moist, and tender
Here is where the there is-

And I’m rolling downhill, fast.

III

The lowest low.

I creep on hands and knees
In breathless breathlessness,
Because I know,
I know,
I know,

In darkened temples deep inside
Where cowards dare not go
Resides the Pythoness,
Dervish mistress of the dead.

Give Her one chance-
She’ll squeeze this mousy life
’Til eyes pop from its head
In sheer astonishment.

She did that once,
She merely touched my tree
And it rained snakes
For week and months
And years.

I’m not afraid of fears,
And even draw some comfort there.
It’s my courage I distrust the most
That fairest of the fair
It opens boxes—yes—best left alone

And in the shaking, quaking darkness,
I hear the serpent moan.

Uncoiling now, from age-old slumber,
With scales of gold, and eyes bejeweled
It offers ice-cold bliss I cannot countenance,
Or fathom,

Islam- I must surrender
To that chasm,
And throw myself into it,
Once again-
Downhill faster,
Faster still,

There is no bottom.

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