Doves Sat on the Egg Until It Hatched


The cup-bearer is seated at my right…

A horned beast reaches out to my left…

This oxygen is such an uncomfortable thing.


A circular saw passes through my torso…

I’m alone on the horizon’s edge…

And I much prefer the salted sea.


It’s the twelfth month

of the year, and this

is only the beginning.

This current age:

30̊ to absolute zero,

we’ll start to boil.


Ptolemy’s 39th horn

pierces my groin, but

there’s nothing special

about me. I’m strangling

myself with the rope

leading to my own well.


In opposite directions,

I express your duality

as Typhon and Christ.

Aphrodite banished me

from Heaven; though,

I am her own son.


Atop your waiting sarcophagus, I recline…

My original doctrine was corrupted…

By poets, by priests and archaeologists.


You carved my name in Ephesus…

For, I protected your Platonic Forms…

The rock upon which this world is built.


My own mother sits

across the table from me,

and my companions

followed us in here.

We are the source of

everything you believe.


Jupiter is my father…

Neptune, my uncle.

I walked upon the moon

until you poisoned me

with your quicksilver

because I exalted love.


My brother’s forked tail

will sting you. My sister,

she devours you. Together,

we’re shape shifters,

adept at both the astral

and psychic planes.


In the sign of the Southern Cross…

There are now six more of us…

In fact, even I’ve turned into two.


There is no scientific basis for me…

I’m perceptive, emotional, yet reasonable…

The unfortunate one, drowning on land.


For more of Israfel Sivad’s poems, please go to: