Isis's Lamentation

Isis's lamentation




 you left your face

 above my vacant embrace.

 Your foreskin can't hide my

  veneral heartbreak.

  i can wear the shroud of Anubis

  only because i know

  sorghum and millet grow on your thighs

  wheat and rye grow on your eyelids,

  barley grows on your chest,

  corn grows on your back,

  and a marvelous fig tree grows between your legs-



in the flooded Nile

i can see you weihing souls

but you lost your equanamity

when seth cut you to pieces

with  the pieces with the blade

of twilight, when you left me.



 How my back aches!

 it groans with the sevrity

 of the after life.



 Every night i hear the african wild dogs calico in their hunger,

 hunting, waiting for only a scent to feed on my flesh.



What would the moon do

if suddenly the sun stopped shining



You left your face here,

 so i have none.






*            *            *






She left her dress on the ground,

diamond by implied diamond,

sight beyond sight,

fractional thoughts caught in wind

drifting out to see

over the winds,

folding waves crash  the broken plain

that used to be a beach.


She looks away from her praying sister,

as does her brother- in -law, who winds

the prayer, grinds the prayer

into grains of sand. He stands

on the back of a palindrome,

an asymetrical sex; a mute man:

hand to windmill prayer

in the back of her sister's head,

a dark-haloed, cyclopean


foot to she-goat's head, who

bear the weight with a gentle curl of her mouth.



dessins de Cécile Carrière

poèmes de Trevor Cunnington