DEGENERATION
I do look for another version of
Degeneration
I do think of the apple on
The grave
And of that deeper love
The dove must not up nor
Down
The dove bleeds his eyes
On my pelvis, his wings are
Sick divers
On this mantle is the splendid
Light of desire
On the broad back of the leopard is
The ache of it, in honor
I do not play the instrument
In longing but in quest
Not to be undertaken
Not to be lost
In a forest of bliss
Where a man comes and severs
My arm from my body
Bloodlessly
THE GENERAL DRIFT
I am taken by the minister
He lays his soul to rest
He is clean as a dove
and is lovely
Like the general drift, he is caught, as if in a
net
welted with his longing for
his archeangelic mother
Like a people or father
he loses her
among the waves
in his oceanic, misspent youth
he saw her as a slave, but then retained her as his
concubine