ARIEL HERSELF
Swmming through seas of books
and substanceless souls, I encountered
my fellow swimmer Leviathan,
core of my nature, half-woman
half-whale, head helmeted
with crown of woven hair --
I readied my blade
and tore through her breast.
Reaching the shore, walking through woods,
finding a feast -- upon the table,
goblets of wine, platters of bread,
bowls of honey, spits of lamb --
a lion a bear
Behemoth appeared before me,
with claws, copper neck
overlong, face compressed
into a horror, hair
extended into horns --
I readied my blade
and tore through her breast.
Climbing the tower
and resting curious in the astrologer's lab,
crown of my nature, Ziz the woman the swan,
swooped down to scratch me to kiss me
from the stars or perhaps from their reflection
upon the mirror the lens --
I readied my blade
and tore through her breast.
Returning to the library and parlor, I remembered
my lover Babylon, mailed to me by an angel,
cloaked in white yet crowned with red,
surrounded by the masters --
Carvaggio boys and Gentileschi girls,
Titian gods and El Greco saints,
Bosch and Brueghel, Watteau and Wright,
the burrs of Blake, the homilies of Goya,
Cole's landscapes, David-Friedrich's landscapes,
the symbols of Dore, of Moreau,
the Ophelias of Millais, of Waterhouse,
the anguish of Munch, the ardor of Schiele,
Vereschagin's vivid portraits of war, Vasnetsov's fantasies,
the bastards of Vrubel, the fables of Bilibin,
Kuindzhi's studies, Nesterov's contemplations,
the contemplative sensualities of Kramskoy,
the innocent seductions of Borovikovsky --
still, I readied my blade
and tore through her breast,
then found myself awaking again,
naked wet alone,
uttered practiced prayers, thick saliva vapors
like Lady Godiva
on Spirit's back Truth riding, peeping Tom
now forgiven.
Oh God, Oh Mighty, Oh Immortal -- consume me.
