Out of Sumer,

I tell my students to trust their boredom, it’s good guidance, better than any outside feedback or creative writing precept can be, when attended to rightly. So when I found I was, at a recent reading I was part of, bored by parts of what I read, I took note.

Revisited really quite excitedly the manuscript, Dumuzi, which I had thought done. Ended up abolishing all the prose poems, compressing the best bits into a preface, which then took on its own life. Herewith. Rated PG13 which for me is pretty risqué.


Dumuzi, god of the new, the new green, to be drawn down broken. Flees gazelle to his sis and she reads his dream. Bro she says don’t tell me that dream. Okay so well fire gone out in yr hearth’s desolation of yr green fields she says. The rushes thick round you galla says. The tall firs in terror round you galla says. Run says.

Sent by Inanna the demon galla hover an inch over the earth bright drought angels pursuant. Justice an in-law turns Dumuzi snake and hands and feet the hands and feet of snakes he runs.

Galla working undercover offer sis a water gift a grain gift a corner office gas and groceries for life to give him up nope. They strip her rape her pour in orifices hot pitch nope. When has a sister ever given up a brother they giggle little to large.

A friend upgives Dumuzi and galla fat and thin harvest him. Scale the perimeter barricades and throw down and perforate that face with nails and smush with shepherd crooks that skull. Shit, you’re not even sleeping, nuff faking say. Get the sweet bloody fuck up they say. Hands bound and iron round his neck with aspect of a warrior caught pressed in clay and proud downed head and spade beard okay says show the way.

Some later find his body in a roadside ditch outside the city. A holy fly tells them where. Son my son mother says as mothers must in wars of sons the face is yours the spirit’s gone from. Deal is, fly gets to hear any quarrel any bar diner bedroom anywhere. Come spring, comes Dumuzi, arrogant, wist­ful. Your broad hand lover Inanna says is manna and your sweet little wee toe’s nectar. I stroll with him sings among the standing trees and stand with him sings among the fallen trees.

And their life is orchard. And he wants to want nothing but take joy in her joy. And he’s to be milled packaged traded shipped bought and sold soiled broiled roasted baked and eaten.

At the king’s lap stands the rising cedar.
Plants grow high by their side.
Grains grow high by their side.

When they tire of riding the holy hard-on Inanna gathers her me together for an excursion. The me are powers won from her drunken father Sweetwater back in the day. Dagger and sword and descent to the kur and measuring rod and line and dark bright dress and unbinding her hair and cocksucking assfucking lovemaking weeping and consolement terror dismay and passing judgement conferring power animal husbandry plundering cities and running away and ascent from the kur and spear arrow quiver bow knife AK47 RPG ICBM crows eating eyes on village greens town squares redbrick college plazas faceless high glass offices and lamentation purification bare attention compassion smack acid crank and scribe and stylus and cylinder seal ironwork carpentry leatherwork star of morning star of evening sacred mountain caduceus rosette a fistful of river and bull sheep scorpion apple tree kindling fire extinguishing fire gathering family dispersing seed voice of the whirlwind broken to voices and crown of the grasslands and a black seducing eye-paint and a friend taken too with her partway.

She takes a road no one turns on to the kur underearth where names go to die and her way crosses his every moment at right angles. What says is this as the guard strips her down. Shut it dirt bitch says our ways are perfect immaculate metamorphosis. Shorn of her me. Crown of the grasslands. Double strand of small beads. Wedding gold. Lapis measuring rod and line. Innermost robe.

Naked to throneroom where Queen Thing Mind kicks and slaps punches and cuts and hangs her dear sis up on a wall. Slab of rotting meat hung on a hook.

That sad friend calls 911 gets the dad-man on the line and not too sauced for once he flicks dirt from under his nails and beings of his fashioning, kurgarra (moth), galatur (bee), descend from on high to sprinkle pharmaceuticals on the corpse.

Inanna ascends behung with galla. Comes in turn on her faithful friend her grieving son her other grieving son. I shan’t give up who serviced me well says and with her galla walks on. In Uruk comes upon Dumuzi sitting under an old apple tree. Lost in a thought. Enthroned don’t bow. Anagram, enthorned. Take this one says. Whatevs he says and flees &c.

Ineluctably ariseth. Anagram, hastier, raiseth. I’m shaking why.

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I write draw teach blog in and from the Pacific Northwest of America.

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