Conversion to a Damned Nietzsche
I am the serpent at the end of decadence.
An ocean imitates the fall
and rise in my veins.
She said, One response to
beauty is transformation.
I disembark from journeys
into well-lit eyes.
My balls are two lumps of charcoal.
Although you bathe, she said, in warm
rooms of conversation, you
will die unbaptized, childless, and full of pain.
She said, You are what is wrong
with this picture, have a good time
if we don’t see you.
I am so gentle it begins to rain.
Open the curtains, she explained,
you will see a mirror.
I shot the deputy.
I wonder how things would be
had I stayed.
Inscribed on my tombstone:
Drink constantly,
Fuck everyone
But do not sleep
Do not marry
And do not work
For an asshole.
The petite, she said, authority of ignorance.
My garden is grief.
Because there is not much time
I say only marvellous things
First, was it you,
she asked, on the earth breathing
without us, and then
how was it different?
I woof in my sleep
and sleep under the empty quarter
drifting deathward. My left eye
is Beid the egg, my right eye
Reid the shell.
She said, You would rename yourself the.
I am tipped off
to men of little faith,
there is a bug in my ear.
She said, We cannot remember what you are like.
Inside me a wolf shivers its mane.
