Young Man with Our Oborus

by Marne Kilates

Was it a strange itch caused him to scratch
Where it was itchiest―his growing manhood?
Was he asking about his place in the cosmos
Or where and how he could consume himself,
Swallow his own tail and become his other,
Future self? Which was what? His harlequin self
Could only laugh: Be careful what you wish for…
Was the serpent or dragon Greek? Was it
The change from youth or a change of sex?
His guardian angel frowned under the annular
Eclipse. His three pairs of wings froze.
Young man could only throw a sidelong glance
With neither malice nor regret. It was the world
Seething with malevolence, with its wars and
Invasions and ever more intelligent weapons
Erupting all over like boils on skin
And it breathed only with a death rattle
Gnashing, death death death…
While he looked the other way―because
He could neither muster spite or rancor
And he couldn’t care less.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀
16 October 2023