Utu Man (15) Shamash and the dead demon

A flimsy furry demon
behind my house
stood winking his
moist eyelashes,
lusting after
my brother's children,
but was suddenly hit
by the orange spear
of Shamash.

To get rid of the corpse
that poisoned my house,
I came out
with a linen cloth:
the creature's heart
poured out of his mouth
when I threw him over my donkey,
and the skeleton key
of his taloned hand
unlocked the ground.

I left this demon
on the tower of the dead,
all shaken,
terrified for my own head,

and rode to the market-place
with long wooden stalls,
where pumpkins and melons
rose like Babylon walls.

One of the pumpkins
was Shamash's frenzied face,
sitting on top of others –
the garish ball of a mace –

eager to crash at any moment
and bring me down,
for I had cut short
the bloated triumph of heaven,

so the winged divinities
could not play their harps
and splash cherry wines
on the canvass-white unicorns,

the twin dragonfly-men
had to halt in mid-space
and take back to the Moon
their sistra and monochords,

and the gods could not gloat
over the little creature's demise,
which let them forget
their gossip and dice.

Вланес, 2008

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 63848 от 14.08.2008

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