What are my friends? Mouths, not eyes for
Bitterest underflesh of the farewell.
I was a man and suffered like a girl.
I spoke underneath to where the lights are
Pretty, pretty, pretty whence they came to tell
One God gets another. My friends are
Mouths for God, tearing me. In such a world
Broken only daughter opens to splendor.
My first thought was that dying is a deep well
Into the image of death, a many of one girl.
Later it meant to smile with no face, where
Mirrors are mouths. Cupid and Psyche wore
Blindfolds made of glass, which explains why girls
Get to heaven early mornings Adam fell.
Gods after gods we go. Still later,
Friends shouldered high mountains to the lee shore.
Gashed, and the gash a fountain of waters,
The landscape defames a single flower:
Amaranth. Magic hides an island world
Of boys and one daughter. I buried a pearl
In God’s eye. And yet He sees her,
Defames her, considers His time well
Spent imagining a continent of flowers
Whose final climate is a broken girl.
Bells of a Cretan woman in labor
Hurled from a tower, flesh realer
Than the ground she somehow upwards curled
Into the bloom of her groin where bells
Are bees. I am an old man with a new beard.
I am the offspring of my child sprung from hell.
Shipwreck makes peninsular metaphor
Out of my hatred, her rape, and one bell tower.
Confusion suicides the poems, heaven I heard
Where the juice runs from stone-struck flowers.
At the end of the world I must use proper
Violence. Nothing is more true to tell.
Tell the taut-strung higher calendars
I’ve a margent in mind and new words
Hope to say, catastrophe to hear,
Old confederates and inwood apples
Where apples never shone. Also tell
Of mountains shouldered underneath one flower
Called amaranth. They tired of the world
Who made the world this way. God never
Did, never will. If you were to call
From the bottom of the ocean, the words,
Every one to me a living daughter,
Would shout wild mercy as never was before.