Oh world that binds me to its belly,

unknown to its vast hunger,

shall I now write my will and testament

before my life ends as I believe it will,

 in a fit of spontaneous combustion? 


Oh world that I have danced upon

and sung to in my faraway deliriums,

do you wish me to leave you some performance

or some word, an aphorism, an epigram,

or a little tune in the sky?


Oh earth that I have walked and slept upon

dreaming always of myth and paradise,

do you wish to have my tears, my excrement,

once more to fertilize your queer beauties,

your fantastic careless monsters and gems?


Oh earth that is a map of my soul,

your continental oceans, your space deserts,

your cathedral mountains, your blood rivers,

your fire and ice plains, your hieroglyphic birds,

your obsidian fish and forest herds,

your storms, currents and doldrums,

will you call me once again "my creature,"

and let your ineffable substance flow

through my heart and stay

long enough to smile at the miracle?


Oh women that I have loved and truly known,

who are close to me now in my reverie,

will you lie down with me on this bed of memories

and touch this burning airborne flesh

one more time fore the sweet sake of Love?


Oh woman who traveled with me to the stars

and left me stranded somewhere in space,

will you still have our magical child,

will you meet me in that meadow by the stream

and walk beside me to the top of the mountain?


Oh people! We often tried to make a song,

we asked eternal questions in the glow of sunset

and stood together glorious or melancholy,

working as one forgetful of everything,

weaving, unraveling, spinning and rising,

peeling off our days and skins,

and sometimes we died for lack of nourishment.

Oh people this was our only tragedy:

the refusal to make eachother's fantasies come true.



All images and text copyrighted.  All rights reserved.    Copyright 2002 David Wiley.