03.16.2005

He Made Me Like Fire and Like Light

Whose radical amazements guide our ascensions & our downfalls?
Whose sickness with experience do we protect with mythic epoxies?


On the king’s head the wing-hat balanced, its span arms-wide.
Awake until dawn but no part of the dream remembered, not even the evil embodied in it.



What tables do we consecrate for the daily sacrifices?


God wants sincerity not show.
The tree where life began is its oracle-throne. A birth-dread.



Who are you to spend this life with me, loving me?
Why trade feelings like precious commodities with God?


The myrtle-wands of the supplicants. The double-headed sybil, sun-poisoned.
The brass armor you wear into the desert blaze.
You sing what’s beyond
destiny.



When will you bear your life like you mother bore you in birth?


A Sphinx: the abyss where you would thrust me is inside you.
A warrior: I was thinking about the Boar-God. I was thinking how he must have died
feeling alone & full of hate.



If I were a land, would you be able to dwell in me?
If I were a wine, would you reduce me in evaporation?
If I were a mystery rather than flesh, would you share me?

Peter O'Leary (© 2005)