Third Canto
Abiding to my ancient moral code
I incise a teardrop on the hardest rock
as the day of mourning arrives
lonely oak clings to
the whiteness of snow all
long nights of winter as
a seed patiently folded in the arms
of earth waits for a single ray or cold
Death who always abides
a moral code and hearse crawl following
wick of the candle lit by
a clumsily-struck match and
the ethereal virginity is pierced
by the firm phallus ascending
from a subterranean kingdom to
fulfill orders issued even before
the teenage God was hatched and old
Death knows this well as He fawns
over the ladybug a light
whoosh on the seashore unmasks the
infinite life-force of an insect free from
fear snake that licks his wound
in the shadow of the tree leaves and
an ancient sin is defined
by classicist scholars and stuffed-shirt
academics but the ethereal
momentum is coupled by the crude
underground catalyzing a strange
balance that even archangels
can’t ignore
two thighs with the golden honey
asking the same question and erect
penis answers: I can do better
Libros Libertad 