Hymn to Isis
Take the pill, call it drive,
the simple rhythm
played on the sistrum back and forth
for the goddess no one has seen.
What does Isis look like? Her faith
in my shaven body I prep
in the rear temple. Where is music
in stomach ache? In the dream, all was good
if excessive, as my inner workings
were on parade, colorful, loud.
The Oracle, what does she know
about excess? I’m dancing
among my minnows
in my revels against
God. I never trust a vision
that comes from inside
the earth, only the work on the body
as I recollect Osiris,
recovering his parts
from the ocean until he is created.
I remember the first time
with purification, a member
on the rocking boat daily,
finger to my lips to keep it secret.