The Diety Glycon

His dry cheek sleeping flat against cold rock,
he waits the vital hot of dawn,
even to think, even to think.
No gap between sun and that reason which it represents.
The parched air oiled with myrrh,
a depthless, lidless dark before awakening,
but pinlit, scented, pearled in thousands,
naked brainstem, arid spine of lightning,
fossil stripes the white dunes outside time,
his belly filled with understanding, jewel and poison.
Call him.
Saying "Sweet One".
Saying "Master".
Call him "Father of the Garden."
Shivered warmth of scale half felt inside us.
Whispering brush and slither wind the cortex. ((*))
Fixed eye mad and needle sparked with figment.
Flickering kiss and hair of sticky gold.
It rears against the roar of noon ((*))
and knows ((29)) with slitted gaze
when are we breathless in the coils of God.

VOLTAR