Vertebral column
Find # 9
Dome Bulfaro

     

In us, Galla Placidia pivots, a mosaic

of cells separated from the rainbow

in us, Joan of Arc rages, marshaling

ranks of the righteous and apocalyptic, women burned

alive for the sorceries of your hooded executioner

in us, time has sucked the world's marrow

in order to make St. Patrick's genial well out of it

in us, the staircase of infinite knowledge spirals, the column

rests: rattlesnakes hungry for ancient and modern

peoples, gulped down like burgers and fries

in us, the ruins of a lashing tail warns us, underneath

they evoke human nature's animal origins

in us, the quadruped instinct for survival, for struggle

in us, sentience means standing upright and we revert

to pack leader, to family man, to a malfeasant

sun-cloaked pharaoh, to love and claw marks

in us, love feeds on eternal folly, the pathos,

the electricity, screaming in our vertebrate cavum

can light up razed cities, can make a Las Vegas darkness

now, ask yourselves if you would skewer your hearts for him

and if you would dip your tongue in poison for her

now, ask yourselves if you are prone to adultery—

already Malatesta sizes you up

ask yourselves if in your film you are authors or actors

well, now, I feel that you are superior, sacred, now that I bare even my bones

like Franciscan feet, I can also not reveal your power

I can either be the Last Supper's food or commensal

I can also not be of a sex or not be an exemplar

I can give to another that which is reserved for me

well, one thing is reality, another is a dream

yet another is the spine of being

which sweetly wedges itself in not being

Trans. Christopher Arigo

 

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