A Tree In The Elephant’s Graveyard

It began with a pen
and paper,
beneath a tree.
Carried here
upon a rat
to rest awhile.

The paper was white
and stared at me
insolently.
The pen hovered,
dripping ink
like tears.

A serpent
coiled itself
around My neck.
I thought of stars
and dreamt
of gouache landscapes.

Still the paper
would not
fuck the pen.
My thoughts
were clear,
my muse was clay.

My forehead
bore the shining
crescent moon
and third eye
of three
slashing lines

And all the universes
dwelt within
my consciousness.
Broken tusk
Turkish Delight,
axe and noose

Shiva
beheaded me
with a silver swipe.
My fat body,
red as blood
beneath the dusk.

I lay beneath the tree
until the sap
seeped its way
into my
bloodied corpse
and changed me.

Forever
Asleep
Dreaming
Composing
Creating
Being

Aged eye,
strong trunk
and the longing
kiss of bark
upon Parvatis
grieving lips.

Inspired By: photograph by Richard Nixon (c) Rich Pictures

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