I
I saw the end.
Enter
my Eyeball. Perched on ore mound clogged with
Arteries older than the first woman’s back teeth.
Are you forgetting her? Listen, she is a noisy chewer.
Feaster of stray bones from dead dogs, and licker
Of blooming green hallucinogenic moss.
Crumbling from her uncombed braids
Some good dirt.
II
I heard the beginning.
The first Mountain told that
The first woman bore herself from the lethal waters of oblivion.
He rose and bowed to her, and as she grew strong
He grew old; wretched ice storms ripped his face
To loose pebbles which fell at the feet of her daughters.
She left them behind.
III
I am the middle.
My body once empty will feed
The mountain an inch.
He will rise and
He will fall. He is already sand under the quaking aspens-
Father of lovers who carve initials.
I carve here too, I am their child, Nobody.
cdzhouse 