In the morning, doves mourn
for the Mother that made them what they are
will make love to them no more.
The birds will come at the birth of the dawn
On white wing and golden sun.
They come to feast on my rotting carcass in the choking desert.
The birds will come to steal my last dawn.
An orgy of passion, love can never be
But the Tree of Good and Evil
where these birds weave their nests
And to unlock the forbidden knowledge,
only the birds posses the key.
Ornithologists listen to birds singing happy aubades,
but if they seek rebirth from the dawn, they'll find different trades
Because, though they tweet, chirp and whistle,
They claw, scratch and tear.
So they fly and fly
And each morning slide down each sun ray.
Though you try,
The serpent will have his way.
You'll drive your car out of Eden
And dwell in the land of Nod
Under piles of composting orange peels
And when you arrive I'll say,
"Hey man, nice wheels."
So as I lay rotting I await the coming dawn,
And so does a fluffy rabbit and a playful fawn.
But so does the apple, and Eve, and the snake
And birds of prey line up on telephone wires.
Now look! I see the sun peking his happy nose over mountains
And he winks to the bald eagle to show us his light
But the amount of arrows in his left talon
Outnumbers the olive leaves in the right.
Part II: Never Turn Your Head From an Avian Gaze at Mid-day
Tus manos me tocan,
pero existen sin mi
There was a time when insects were sovereign
(but is it any different now?)
Then the fish grew its legs.
He left pelagia and stepped into Devonia
like a ritzy socialite,
in tux, in spats,
swinging to the Gershwins,
nevermind the Duke, nevermind the Count,
nevermind what the telegram boy dances to after work!
That first fishapod sprouted its limbs,
jitterbugged out of the sea,
and took the A-Train all the way to Harlem
and onto my plate.
And so it began,
The molestation of Planet Earth.
My hands groping,
penetrating all of the secret, special spaces
touching the deepest waters,
even diddling the ocean floor
(until the fish dance no more)
tearing open the Amazon,
the cheap dirty whore,
and poking her with my rusty chainsaw.
And so the fish are gone
but an eagle still soars.
Yes, look! he is proud and noble
And only he knows the shame of these -
That I try to clean, try to wash away
with the soap in the shower.
The watery beads roll down by shoulder blades.
I've been in here for over an hour,
cursing what I've done,
"I hate that I hurt you!
I hate that it was fun.
I'm sorry Mother Earth
for this Oedipal addiction,
that we raped you Mother Earth
with flags and with affliction."
And yet I stand naked on wet tile
and hypnotically watch the water pour.
Mother Earth pauses from the dishes
to rap loudly on the door,
"Oy! Get out!" she yelps, "Save some water for the fishes!"
But why should I care for the fate of a bass or trout?
And I still have enough time
to squeeze in a "squeeze-one-out".
I don't care, today is my day!
And the Eagle shits on Friday.
Part III: All Ravens Are Black
Dusk comes swiftly,
bringing with it beasts,
a silky blanket of bats
looking like a flock of winged rats
or squeaking, rabid birds
though even owls would fly in fear.
It's a shame that bats hold the spot as flying mammal.
They're ugly and they're graceless and they're dirty!
Don't call me their cousin.
Don't call me a brother,
let's pretend we're of a different mother
Let them sip the blood from another man's hen
Let them drink from a separate fountain.
They are much too dark to possess a soul
so let them defecate in a different hole.
Oh! But were we still talking of bats?
So goodnight Mother
will you shield me from these vermin?
And please protect me from those four men:
Pestilence, Famine, War, and Death!
Let me rest upon your bosom,
forget the hateful words I've uttered;
the spiteful things I've done;
the angry engines that sputtered,
the seeping smog, the booming gun.
Will you still nurse me?
After all this hateful scorn?
Or should I have been aborted,
Before I was ever born?