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Spirits of the Head.

You want to recover the original wholeness?
Re-enter chaos.
Kill your own profane existence.
Become a chocolate skull, wrapped in white silk, teeth sewn shut,
 sockets shell-stoppered.
The auroral instant prior to existence?
Death is a rite of passage, not an end.
In flight, an erection becomes the World Tree.
I am a crow perched in the foliage of my scattered skeleton.
From the mud under Satan's nails I have made a mound on which to rest.
An animal goes into a cave, re-emerges as a man.
The animal on the wall: earth cosmetics, cosmopathy, the make-up of
 inner space.
Spirits of the head.
Brow of unpolished wood.
My left eye a rouge of blood and sperm.
Eyeball: a rabbit balled-up in a cage.
A Mohawk hairjolt stiffened with soot.
The inner head, beat-up version of somebody else.
The whap in the jaw, slug of the male jaw, castrated bullet of the
 prognathous jaw.
Eye as moon crater.
The target of the eye.
Eye closed under a brain kindling geysers and splitting fontanels.
I am jawless with long, long ears, my throat extends to my eyes.
Spirits of the head.
Mustache of drool and loam.
Face of waves, of serpentine mobs.
Aviary face, eyrie of coons and owls.
Shore of the eye, quicksand of a look.
And then George Dyer--a spirit head if there ever was one--
 turned to show in profile
 a root-chopped, tusk dug continent,
 issue bandaged with eyelids and whiskers.
Dead Dyer with bumblebee lips.
Dyer with a snow cone blood picked nose.
Skull with nimbus of Germanic steel and gold.
Merry Xmas, Mr. Mayhem, I'm here to interrogate the nimbus of your
Here to enjewel your ribs with metal buttons, velvet flaps.
Head in rotary division, a single eye, mouth, and terrine of ears.
God has withdrawn into the Devil's Skull from which he fires spider
 filaments into the glory hole of mankind.
Within the face, Bosch working the pump: mouth slashes up into eye, eye
 bruises over, pickled garden of shredded amanitas and blind sables.
Pit of the face, cemetery pitted against chaos.
Brain as a tub of marrow filled with the diced hands of scientists.
Head of bone, of spirit, unbroken head.
Head destroyed and intact as a granite egg.
Lynched tongue-bunched neck invisible to the boys setting fire to its
Fly of the human eye excreting as it broods.
Snowshoe of George Dyer's mouth planted in ice.
How much white can a head take? Can it assimilate supremacy, heaven?
 Can it take on the reddened battlefield of man's pincer gaze at pluck
 with his brother?
Can I make the unsayable bark to verify that racial whitewash will never
 succeed in gating the community of souls?
Head on its hair body, homuncular head, alchemical gaze of a hair body
 through which the putty of the face mills.

[Bacon Studies]
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Title Annotation:four poems
Author:Eshleman, Clayton
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Jan 1, 2006
Previous Article:An Enigmatic Signifier.
Next Article:My poem "Spirits of the Head".

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