Ten Years

this is a cycle,
the journey of Dante--not a circle,
a spiral!
down and left,
nine reverse,
coffee in the colonnade
with some asshole archduke,
pretentiousness,
slit your wrists,
the poem I write is this,
more or less,
who is it that I am?
the mountains are the best,
after nine is ten,
I only want an exit,
an inscription over a crypt,
cryptic messages from death,
spaceman spiff crossing the Styx,
veiled references:
oil and sweat,
the river's bed,
I'm waiting for your kiss,
O
sweet death,
Burning as a witch,
burning as the pitch,
all black for images
etch a fucking sketch,
and drink from Lethe,
dig the ell-square pitken
as Tiresias said,
offer a promise
and follow through with it,
maybe you can spiral home again,
the rocky bed of Ithika
or
Bethlehem.

(thank me before it's all over,
before the suitors are dead,
and before Beatrice blesses our heads)