A son of my
first mind, was
a leaf, wind on
raw skin, fist
of one thirst
round of what
no one had
of what no
Out of Sumer, Dumuzi, fertility god, crushed king. His other, Inanna, she of increase, went down to their underworld for fun + profit; why for real though is very hard to tell. On her way up + out, guided by hyperathletic postal demons called galla, and told one’s got to take her place, divine rule of bloodless metamorphosis they sez, who’s her eye land on but her arrogant lovely benighted D. Take this one sez + game afoot. Flees. Caught. Ta’en in chains. His butter churn’s broke + an empty windy sheepfold & vulva; both have place in the formless field of his shining care. Later the woman find his body unmoving outside citygates. Gethtinanna, his sister & my book’s hero, sez I will take his place, ½ a year underearth, + so she does.
“finds / him at Uruk under an old apple tree ex / pounding wildflowers,” he writes, in “QUEEN OF SKY EARTH + UNDEREARTH,” “one on Salt Spring I loved over all the others / a king no a gala—I am / not kidding!” In a collection that structures itself from the baseline of the fragment, Dumuzi utilizes song and scraps, document and sketches, myth and the building blocks of story expansive enough to become a new kind of telling, one that seeks the half-spoken and half-hidden, and the smallest grain of salt along the skin. As part of the poem “OMNIA QUAE SUNT, LUMINA SUNT,” he writes:
You never see fog at a
distance said. You’re in it—no
distance. You’re outside it—not fog. To say the fog climbs
the hills is to speak from somewhere you cannot stand.
A thought of fog is
beautiful because it has the structure
of empathy. A fog actual is beautiful because we see
unseeing in it.
Change pens and the image of nature changes.