Isle of the Narrator
It’s true these boots were taken from a dead man,
but he’d already drown’d: I didn’t want his purse.
It’s true I’ve carried infant bones within a kettle
but for the purposes of study only, brother
trust me: you & I are royal twins, operatically estranged—
observe our matching birthmarks, side & thigh! Sister,
come ashore: nights here are Dionysian: crowns
of thicket, silly incense & umbilic torches,
horns & holy rattles attend the garlanded bull.
Though convictions and my eyeteeth dim in daylight
our severance is too high a price to pay for truth.
And anyway you didn’t voyage here for truth