The Tamed Man
Aslan – not a tame lion.
Fierce, Ragged, Untamed Hairy Soul, Raping Caliban,
Finn Sivilized, “Whatever happend to Huckleberry Finn,
out in the Western Territories — perhaps he died with
Grant at Vicksburg, or with Custer at the Big Horn.
Sit here, in soft, decadent luxury, like Achilles among the women,
late to St. Crispin’s Day —
Railriders. Untrusting visages. “As he saw his life run away from him
thousands ran along, chanting words from a song.
Please we have no regrets. Came from the baby’s mouth.
We followed the lines going south.” Blackbirds on a white sky
Who brought them here, set the hunger in their bellies – up then down
riding invisible disturbances of the ether — we call it
“going where the wind blows”
Come Dionysos, come come, Dionyos, come. The lady dances,
writhes, hypnotizes our soft minds, the serpentborn sinners
doomed to die – a glorious hairy vulva hangs in the Musee D’Orsay
in Paris, called sthe Origin Du Monde — may the soft embrace
of the mother welcome you home — a million million dying soldiers
choked by smoke and lying in mud call out for livind and dead
mothers — the arbitrary asynchronicity of existence reduces to
a single deathbed, one neck, and the moment I write in
is identical to the moment I die in — it will be easy, surely —
like the exhalation of a breath — like the wish of a dried-out
dandelion, catching on the wind. Harder for those who remain —
us — me — the survivor’s testimony — oh — oh — oh
Well. I will not be so easily tamed.