Adonis Diaries

The eyes of an insect who visualized the history of human kind?

Poem of Bob Kaufman

My body is a torn mattress,
Disheveled throbbing place
For the comings and goings
Of loveless transients.

The whole of me
Is an unfurnished room
Filled with dank breath.
Escaping in gasps to nowhere. (the breath?)

Before completely objective mirrors
I have shot myself with my eyes,
But death refused my advances. (try another sense)

I have walked on my walls each night
Through strange landscapes in my head.
I have brushed my teeth with orange peel, (try bicarbonate of sodium)
Iced with cold blood from the dripping faucets.

My face is covered with maps of dead nations;
My hair is littered with drying ragweed.
Bitter raisins drip haphazardly from my nostrils
While schools of glowing minnows swim from my mouth.

The nipples of my breasts are sun-browned cockleburs;
Long-forgotten Indian tribes fight battles on my chest
Unaware of the sunken ships rotting in my stomach.
My legs are charred remains of burned cypress trees;
My feet are covered with moss from bayous,

flowing across my floor.
I can’t go out anymore.
I shall sit on my ceiling.
Would you wear my eyes?