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.