This mini-epic poem will be written daily thru March, & e-mailed (in pdf form) to Mr Golden at work, who will illuminate it. A subsidiary of the "important assignments" project, it's an attempt to create something daily - a stanza & an illumination. Hence the strict format: in Five Parts (for five weeks) of Five Stanzas (for five working days.) The three-stanza prologue was the test run, this week. The illuminations may not appear on this website for several months, but I'll keep the blogosphere posted on the progress of the poem. (You can see this picture larger if you click on it. - Note: this is not what the official pdfs look like, standard garamond & bulgarian garamond.)
The naked male was twenty-eight when he died.
The first three years he didn't remember well.
He shocked the blogosphere with a deep-fried suicide,
And fiery demons dragged him thru to hell.
Sing, March & February goddesses!
There's truth & nudity cow-tongues can tell!
There's magic music vibrating from your dresses!
The Naked Male's father had come down from Illinois,
To see how ordinary folk in Arkansas loved.
Nearing the borders of Blakemore, he saw a boy
About twelve winters worn, with face already rough,
Copulating jovially with a rabbit from the brier.
Further on, he saw an elder reposing, flagellating himself:
When quizzed, the old man sighed, no longer quick to catch a hare.
There on the threshold of Blakemore, he was raised,
The purest sprouted from the unlikeliest soil,
His rotten father decomposing, fertilizing the chaste.
Hundreds of forgotten siblings lost at the Coney Island Revival,
The pathetic & the awesome, evincing strange pity,
To let our bottoms bare in a heavy cell,
Begin the story, a lesson, his tragedy.