Roll Call of the Lesser Devils - Book II

94.
On My Way To Chichen Itzen

On my way to Chichen Itzen
The rivers boiled
Coming down out of the mountains.
The trees shook
With fear on the ancient slopes.
The People have all fallen
Into savage warfare,
Distraught over the white man’s curse,
Casting a last farewell
To all their dashed hopes.
The moon coiled into a ball
In the crumbling reflecting pools
Far behind the eldred gardens
Whither I sought to at last
Embrace finality
In the most painful of all fashions.
Old muttered tales of ruby lit vales,
And glistening altars
Atop temples haltered in the mist of clouds.
My ears follow
The beating of my feet
On the run to a seat
Preserved for the victorious,
The survivors of the game.
Death crowns defeat
Just as grimly as poison’s kiss
So does the triumph touch
With avid bliss
The sinews of mighty, strong willed
Preying animals
Who kill for the pleasure of the court,
An historic sanctity.
The mysteries
Of the shamanic interpretations
Begin to unravel before me
As the skin from my back
Is stretched tightly onto the frame
For tanning,
Preserved for the power
Of he before whom I am
Nothing.
The depth of the pyramid to the center stone
From the corner of the great pentacle
Size unknown to all but
They who carved the earth,
One two three
With all human elements at their disposal
Yet still sane
In the brutal, butchering sort of way
In which the jaguar hunts.


[original lost]
[[[not being able to write new material is killing me]]]