The Ghent Review Volume1, Number 1, summer 2016 | Page 38

Nor death songs about me to the flickering of candles (espouse that my true
brethren, ye few, ye fewer, ye none, for that is and will be my true
instruction my true admonishment)
Unto the beauty of which…
As is now and will be – world without to the world within.
Into my innards as into no other (there is no other than I who can do this)
Espousing only the fecund verb To Be (I will also be thus espoused) – but to
their quizzing minds I am already ancient who nonetheless would place
about me a ring of offering stones (hail disciples for your glittering tribute!)
That I be unto you also what I will be unto myself: see my stealth in this, my
subversions of the modalities, my pennant flashing in the air above me.
O defiance!
Yet unto these my little ones…
Unto them as be unto all of us in our needs “yet you will, will you not,
acknowledge the dogmas?” I will not, and if such is to be my transgression,
against history no less as has been given from the old days, days of that
woman’s betrayal through the womb of time – metronome of my blood and
sinews.
O mothering sea shelter us from history again, the ongoing purge.
As it was in the beginning.
Shall we say… no, no, no – resistance (I have made of it the perfect armour
yet I am pierced)
Yet still the living gather about me –questions and accusations– that Greek
dilemma

as ever it was and will be. No end to it nor as they quiz my

quizzing heart.
That perpetual light may shine and cancel the dilemmas with light
abounding