Orpheus’s Death Published in Abramelin a Journal of Fine Poetry
http://thegiantgilamonsters.com/abramelin/
Orpheus’s Death
when I wrote
of men folding in their tight skins
like an apple—
apples swelling inside me—
it was a mask
when I wrote of a god
standing near the
window dancing—
it was a mask
there are no apples
filling my hunger,
no god folding
in his skin,
there is only the memory
of my self
torn at birth
by my own music
Orpheus’s Death
when I wrote
of men folding in their tight skins
like an apple—
apples swelling inside me—
it was a mask
when I wrote of a god
standing near the
window dancing—
it was a mask
there are no apples
filling my hunger,
no god folding
in his skin,
there is only the memory
of my self
torn at birth
by my own music
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