epitaph
with blue eyes
and scorched tongue,
he was always the rebel
he lifted candles for women in dark rooms
played them nonsensical rhythms
and induced their bodies with oils
and soiled skin
shattering images of lost heroes
and perfect fathers
for he wore masks much better
much more divine and furious by nature
he was both a god and a fool!
carried only, as an infant,
on the backs of shameless camels
who bore him
like dead fruit upon the sands
of the most forgotten deserts
"child", they called him
so that he would know his place among the leaves
so that he would remember
just in case the seasons turned from autumn
to winter's misfortune
but his face was further changed
by time and hideous moments
of lust, bankcruptcy, jealous fortitude
(it is impossible to remain a child
in such sad housing)
no. he had lived a life
equal to thousands!
yet his blue eyes
and scorched tongue
remained
and his appearance
seemed a continual morning
(with radiant golden light peering through cracks
of invisible stars)
until his untimely death
which eventually comes to us all
(dressed in scarves of inevitable charms)
and many more hideous moments
covered his boyish frame
while angry white maggots
happily digested his youth
(within the cruel nature
of life's spontaneous appetite)
but only when you can look
very deeply
into the dirty grime and hollowed pit,
may you see him as he ended
he was not a boy!
for his eyes were as old
as copulation!
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