From the Clay, I Fell
But could you ever?
have you ever
in the immortal sage
of your scullion kingdom
of the three-horned beasts
of the good, the bad and
and the scuttling middlescores
from your sapphire throne
been able once, to whirl
the stiff, sturdy-backed Hercules
and seen from his eye
the toil of Tantalus
that rattles forth?
or in the cleft of Sisyphus’ palm
tried to scour his mistake
to see from underneath
the pale hues of your spittle
with which you thinned
the clay in our veins
so that Cain could not skip,
with his brandished sword
unwitnessed
and the tinctured Mary
could not scamper
with Jesus in the tug
unseen
for one, descent, a malice
the other, a glory
such flights from halos to horns
or back
that, in my eye, you cannot see
for then Your throne would too begin to reel
to the tingling static
of my fiend’s whisper
i am lost…help
Name? lost as in confused, or lost as in dazzled, overwhelmed? the stunning and beautiful bolt of lightening that this poem delivers is enough, nahi? even without the poet providing footnotes to all her allusions (and turning it into a research paper)?