Put me down on the earth again
on the rocks piercing the solid sea,
let me scrape their chalky skin,
see fragments fly with water
into one white swarm.
Put me down on the road to the East,
where gasoline puddles turned to amber,
and the midday sun to molten sugar
the day he came
and fell into my arms.
Down to the ground, animal-like,
with a perforated head and heart,
veins full of fire, unsucked
by this black immateriality.
I don’t want to live beyond the blue,
locked here in this dark nothing,
where my bones break
under the weight of memory.
Here, where I’ve been lifted up,
fed with colorless fumes
from a silent mouth,
I can feel my own ashes
running through my lungs
in a ceaseless procession.
Here my pulse utters no song,
every fiber is a dead string,
my body, ether-like,
floats in a solitude
even hell dares not host.
Nailed to a carbon paper vault,
I can’t feel my legs, hands, muscles,
my eyes are two holes
of no use, but my heart,
my heart is heavier than a sack of rocks.
And it falls back,
it falls back from the boundless black,
a rain of lead
on the downward track.
And dripping, dripping
like a miscarriage,
takes root in the hard-packed sand,
among urchins
that crawl along the reefs.
By now, one of these prickly suns
is lurching on his thigh,
its black needles fluttering
into an absolute lostness.
This is where I want to be,
like a clandestine tangerine,
the sweet pulp of Ogygia
waiting for his knife and mouth.