Inspired by Joe Campbell’s “Power of Myth”
In the field the babies played catch and the sun waxed like arsonflames
As it swam through the blue,
The ball took a piece of the sky with it,
Soaring, and dragging,
Like a fishing net collecting its bounty.
All things spun when war donned his pale leaves.
To meet the battle cry,
Many bodies, void but for their form
Collected in the basin of Earth.
Me, I’ve seen the heart of death
Its pulpy hand clenching, and unclenching
Seducing me, lulling me, so that I never could
Quite turn away from its latticed, night-like face.
When I sang, if I sang,
Like a fish in the water
Like a snare in a line
It was to revel in the simplicity shed there–
The ball grows
In a pulse, in bee stings lapped up
Of golden bodies borne from virgin hearts
Who lay untouched
Lay tempting us;
I have seen it.
I was born from the bodies of fear and desire
Two figures lay strapped to the chest,
One Godlike, one cowering
Each loving the other. As we spun
Space became the primal need
One sank his teeth into the other’s left earlobe. The pig’s blood ran like steam.
And there it was:
And as I hit ground, I thought;
How awful to die in the channel:
Crimson red, overflowing
The smallness, passing you through
Passing through you