The nose is the first to go

and the museum’s virgins are made of stone.

You were brought funerary equipment.

And we know when you died because of the colourlessness of your flowers

and the positive absence of organs

and positively dead orgone.

Still, yet, an infant spies on nature

regeneration bending, an echo of matter

The magic facade of feeding is cherished.

The same beloved bone demon

of holy slit and gilded wand;

a mummiform interlace.

Her tingling peacock

is a magickal consort

which pins her character down

in the city of cups and perfume.

We cherish the gravely ceremonial, curved and whispering drum.


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