The Gardens of Yearning

THE  GARDENS  OF  YEARNING


You’ve heard of the gardens of yearning
Where rivers of shining crystal
Flow, and there in the courts of morning
The dead walk again, immortal.

There the boys all have laughing eyes
And they peep from the leaves of trees
At the angels rustling shy thighs
In their summerland sorceries.

There the angels are all young girls
Pubescent in bud and in bloom
And their eyes are like moths of darkness
And their mouths are like fruits of doom.

How they dance all night under Sirius—
By the moondrugged lakes how they dance!—
Now deathless, divinely delirious,
Round and round in a toxic trance!

And one day they wake up all weeping
In the cold harsh light of the dawn
And the dream has fled and there’s nothing—
No Xanadu, no Avalon!

And then with a shock they discover
In the hideous light of the sun
That out of the mists of Maya
The webs of the world have been spun.

O the sun’s made of cocaine powder
And the moon’s a mad butterfly
And everyone’s guilty of murder—
And only God’s got an alibi!

Now the boys are all bent and broken
And the girls have gum in their eyes
And the moon of magic has fallen
Into the dead sea where it lies.

 


 



Magic Kingdom

I shed my tears for the shining
rills of Zion into rage
with skulls of myrrh and scorpions
in the sleep of kings in a cage
for I am the sun Tipháreth
and I lick their wounds for a wage
I shed my tears for the aching
stars of the young into stones
with eyes of ancient longing
in the city of sad saloons
for I am the lust of the angels
and I seed their suns and moons
I shed my tears for the endless
aeons of blood into horn
with webs of winter and summer
in the trance of the yet unborn
for I am the snake of Eden
and I give the rose its thorn
I shed my tears for the wounded
wailing for wombs into wings
with requiem bells for ringing
in the courts of the raving kings
for I am the doomed till the trumpets
turn all their rags into rings
I shed my tears for the Always
garden of grief without God
with suns and moons of Carmel
on the feast of the bleeding rod
for I am the Tree of Raptures
and I grow by red seas of blood
I shed my tears for the angels
weary of pleasures and pains
with eyes and tongues of terror

in the song of the singing drains
for I am the damned till your praises
wash out the world and its stains