c. by ruejacobs 11/17/08 4 A.M.

"i think i am becoming a god."

he ate figs from the branches
like an old he-goat
still that fluttering beast
beneath the lattice of ribs
galloped him to the grave

you can cover Orpheus' head
with a cloth
like a parrot's cage
('Be silent, Pretty Bird.')
but still it washes up on the shore

lyre strings and figs
god's blood as pale as watered ale
a tongue rooted in apathy
and weaned on regret

a song, a scream, a shout:
i felt mortality
brush against my lips
just repeating such a thing

i painted the fruit in the garden
in promising hues
prosperity
long life
and happiness

happiness but never peace

it was the northman's
the desert marauder's
the pirate's jolly roger

bouncing on the waves, that head

from maenad's hands to this
don't turn your back
on your benefactor

lest your tongue
be bereft of its animate host

the empty cage
the unstrung harp

then at last a footnote
for Dante's drudging pen