Poem: The Tiger of Psyche

black-and-white-tiger-wallpaper-3

Jungle tiger stalking through the woods –

Who can harness your chthonian moods?

From afar, your beauty invites – inspires –

Up close, from fear’s throat suspires

A ghastly moan, as of venting steam,

The shadow of a dream fructifies a scream,

And those legendarily beguiling stripes,

Become the very daggers of the night

II.

Beauty is beauty, separated from us by leagues,

But its breath on our face terrifies us indeed,

Beauty cannot be beauty without a centre of terror,

As truth is closely cuddled by the snugness of error,

We are seduced by the smile that pirouettes on its lips,

Until our own flesh its jaws indelicately rips;

A kiss is a potential until the conjunction converges,

And from the foretaste of pleasure – danger emerges,

Foreboding a loss of control – a dissipation of self –

The lightness of delirium becomes darkness’s wealth,

Telling those that would love, and blend with their light,

And dally with lips when all is perfect and right,

That light casts shadows – and shadows must dine –

On Insecurity’s Triumph, and Paranoia’s Opium Wine,

And the candle-light setting – the triumph of romance –

Are the dwellings of Dionysus in his dangerous dance,

A trance of sublime terror – the unconscious’s prosecution,

As nimble expectations are assembled for execution

III.

In the Cathedral of the Psyche, I worship the unknown,

The place where The Tiger unmaliciously roams,

Yet, invidious, yet, for its only motive pressing,

Is to prepare all your illusions for a toothsome undressing,

Beliefs will be munched on – delusions are slaughtered –

Epiphanies wrung from you in strange, Chinese tortures

IV.

And still my body is a weapon of unmedicated suspense,

I am always too much – I am always too intense –

And I make no apology – ‘twould be a fallacious breath –

To say I’m not a creature of unspeakable depth;

Like a tiger, I don’t just want meat, but to gnaw on the bones,

To fuck Truth’s Own Self – not its illusory clones –

To get to the marrow of all I desire;

To find the spark of truth in the destruction of fire

*

And in the jaws of our lovers, we find what has been, and what will be,

The Old Empire of Agony – and The New World of Reality

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s