Untitled #60
Eros has been crucified upon a tender tree
his wings snapped. snared and caught
on low branches weeping like willows.
weeping like the lament of Himeros
calling to that broken glory hanging,
bloated and swollen like over ripened fruit
like death waiting to be plucked.
and that tree is truly tended well
nurtured and loved by all the world.
fed by the brilliant sun of lies,
watered with three moons of deceit
and the blood of Pothus
as he lays dying at her roots.
his ardors spilled and spent
among the narcissus and kings.