The Theosophist

Scum Removed From Bathroom Tile, Kept in Jar, Observed
II. The Theosophist
I am the father of the modern world, which is ashes.
I believe in the destruction of planets as a political movement.
I am the black heart of nothing.
Kiss my basalt ring,
lay a lei of burnt flowers about my neck.
I nestle among cheap gravestones.
The earth eats my fingers,
one
by
one.
I poison the stream with flakes of my skin.
Hear my voice in each strand of your hair,
vibrating.
The wind
changes me with
each lick across my
hands.
My flesh
ripples
with different
colors,
rainbow rashes
appear
and
disappear,
crawl over my skin like spiders.
My body
grows and amputates
limbs and appendages.
My tears
freeze in long strands,
like lava,
like the hairs of Hawaiian goddesses.
My long tears
are swords of ice.
I collect them and wear them about my waist,
a kilt of grievous weapons.
I do not look at them, but they decorate me,
like apes, they hang from my body,
argue with the voices of wind chimes.
I am the prince of the empty sward, windswept,
clean.
I am metallic,
my luster burns your eyes,
I am long and tall, my hair is straight and sharp like old grass.
I think I keep the moon in my pocket like a prized marble,
but I don't.
I'm just a boy playing pirate.
My leather skin crumbles off me like apple pie crust,
but I build it up again with sand
and I don't look up,
ever.

1/27/97, 1/28/97, 1/31/97, 2/14/97, 2/18/97, 3/3/97, 3/4/97, 2/18/98, 3/30/03

Jim Genzano




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