i.
Before the lid was closed
I looked in and saw the child in repose.
Protecting him I held my tongue
And watched as they stood with their
Backs to the casket--one was doing laundry,
The other, in uniform, looked
about him for any criminal activity.
"Murder, Murder! Murder most foul,"
in my heart's chamber echoed,
Muffled by my urgency
And my Friar Lawrence habit.
I put the boy in the sepulcher
And burned candles,
Held secret vigils,
strewed the floor with sweet smelling flowers.
The one changed her hair color-
The other accepted promotions.
I forgot also.
Except in my dreams,
Except in my drinks,
Except in my drugs,
I forgot also.
ii.
Oh the men and boys I have gamboled with!
Not sweetly innocent on clover fields,
But darkly separate anywhere we could.
Hopefully out of sight,
Out of light,
Hopelessly married in the night.
"Are you my father?"
"Are you my son?"
"Is it possible that somehow we are one?"
The unasked questions behind the introductions-
"Is that his real name?"
"Is he really seeking love?"
The hastily unzipped pants,
The ravenous feedings,
Priapic vampires
Each others only mirror.
Recognized, acknowledged, tasted, spitted out or swallowed,
heated reciprocity,
Stone-cold giving, kneeling in the dark, kneeling in the dark, bleeding in my heart
Stake less, eternal pain. There are many roads to the wastelands. Many positions.
In the shrub shrouded privacy of public domain we perform our sacraments, primitive,
Fearful, make me hurt, numb this pain, quickly rezipped, a bow, and all the demons in
My head drive me tormented away, "I am unlovable."
iii.
Sisyphus lies down,
"Not again," his soul whispers.
I am tired, bruised and scarred.
I have been the width, breath, height
And find no egress.
It is dark.
There is music.
I am tired, bruised and scarred.
If I lie down to sleep
The Harpies descend.
I eat only to feel empty.
iv.
Beneath this castle,
Beneath this walled fortress
Is a sepulcher.
All the seeming world is crying out,
"Parsifal! Parsifal!"
The enchantment ironically ends the magic.
Klingsor, my brother,
Dark ruler of my impotence.
Beneath this castle,
Beneath this walled fortress
Is a sepulcher.
All the seeming world is crying out,
"Parsifal! Parsifal!"
Gurnemanz lives at Grand street
(not grandiosity place)
and patiently,
lovingly teaches Parsifal.
Gurnemanz tells him of the sepulcher.
The unasked question remains so.
The man in the uniform dies at Christmas.
Without crucifixion there is no resurrection,
the neurotic only fools himself.
The woman doing laundry rests, breathes
New April showers sweet that pierce to the
Root the drought of March.
Timely,
Synchronicity.
The male mantle falls upon the shoulders of the unbowed Parsifal."
"Conjure, Klingsor!" challenges the Grail knight,
Recalling in a vision wonder--
Breaks the depriving spell
And Klingsor defeats.
v.
Beneath this castle,
Beneath this walled fortress
is a sepulcher.
I have strewed sweet smelling flowers,
Enter the Grail knight.
He moves to the casket.
I have burned candles.
Compassion infusing his being
He turns to me.
I have kept secret vigils.
"Is the child sleeping?"
vi.
Oh resplendent moment!
Transfiguring question!
"Yes!" I joyously cry.
I take the sleeping child
And give him to the champion.
New vigor surges through the land.
The flesh knows its own glory.
The soul its finest peace.
The man in uniform spirit
Makes strong the sinews of the knight.
The woman who has rested, gardens.
Kllingsor hates himself no more.
I have stopped the bleeding.
Parsifal coos to the child.
Oh resplendent moment.
Most wondrous integration.
There is light
And there is music.
vii.
The days of Lohengrin,
The golden knight.
The son of Parsifal.
"Are you my father?"
"Are you my son?"
"Is it possible somehow we are one?"
Yes.
Comes my swan.
Comes my unicorn.
Comes the magic.
Come the singing mermaids.
The days of Lohengrin.
January 1993
