The Hydra of MyBorneo

“The Hydra of myBorneo”



       In    the Eaves & Ungained Foliage

of myBorneo    I am cocksure

with a  tumbling    speciation.

                        And You

                          must hereafter be

                                    known as She

                                   (perhaps one day She

                                    will just get her name back.)


(But no… this ecology

                        of heart or mind    is not quite   that  robust…

                                                                               for if, in fact,

                                                                           I am a Hydra,

          should I cut from myself            the enervating head,

as I surely have?)


A brilliant neon lizard—with a regrown tail of smooth oily scales

                                                                     the color of bruise—

 basking                                          in a beam of light   that has

   passed through              the gauntlet of umbra and canopy

       reminds me of  

                                  my body…





   For the Hydral,

it is the shearing

  of the neck

                      that is the high point

                                     like the brief

                                       seizing climax of heroin:

            it’s the greatest magic trick in the world

of seething magicians:

                                                  a disappearing act

                                                of all the things she leaves behind…

            (and is that white elephant             we vanish from the attic

     gone?                                        or simply gone  


 and what resolves            in the accidental

plume of dust,

what vague, telling outline?)



 So I count my addictions           and wonder

      does everyone have   this

                                                love/hate relationship

                                                                        with   love?

Nowadays I want from women


transparency,                but only partly. 





         And I have cut them all off,

  one  by  one.


           At pace with my own powers

                of Regeneration & Recuperation.


                 The demands of an increased metabolism, naturally,

              required me to muster an appetite,


       which has always troubled me.

 And there was surgical precision


            most of the time, but in honesty

               there were   here and there the violent


                rippings of neck from my countless

      collarbones: fitful shows of strength for whom?


         And it might have gone on forever,

an infinite regress of wounding and regeneration


  were it not for the progress charted

                   in thin lines of scarification.


             And as for her, I am left with necklaces

of  turned and purple skin—


          marks of a double trespass—

          and an elephant graveyard:


                          a pile of loose and grey heads

                       severed at the shoulders;


                      fetid serial self-portraitures

                          in wilting stem & flower.



1 Comment

Filed under hydra, MyBorneo, poetry

One response to “The Hydra of MyBorneo

  1. Anonymous


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