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For the Last Plague Doctor (Hierophant)

Once I had a child
he was wilder than moonlight
he could do it all
like he’d been here before
tap-tap-tapping on the bed-sheets
as if they were water-lilies
him reaching out for the velvet slits
in the kingdom of freaks ’n’ sillies.
Before a blanket was my hood
and a draught was mice’s rustle
under the fall of leaves I stood
with my heart-t-t beat-t-t a paper muscle.
Before I marched all alone
to the dearest chop-chop square
crawled in-and-out of my stuffy home
turned the Black Death into a funfair.
Knock-knock-knocking to the Funny Farm
with its doors made of sobs and walnuts,
dear Doctor, there is no harm
in my death by a hundred paper-cuts.
Once I had a child
she was smiling like sunshine
she could see it all
like she’d been here before
out of her head on misery,
tobacco, Green Fairy, lust
she fell into your Faun’s trickery
then her marbles turned to rust.
Now I snow myself away
drawing angels and gnomes with soil
until the next tiny hurricane
comes and twists them in a coil.
Now my hands turn beautiful and black
with every line I spit out
emptying my eerie wordy backpack
until what’s left is a numb clout.
Out of my scull hammer my birth
that is still captured in a clog,
dear Doctor, don’t cure me with mirth
better put on my buboes a frog.
Then I had a child
took his while like northern summer
and he knows it all
like he’s been here before
all seeds of things that are chaos,
moonlight and sunshine my parents
with barbarian newborn faces,
wet whips and leashes as presents.
Soon I’ll smell you in the dark, Doctor
with your penetrating Jewish beak
making guilt my only proctor,
the quickest way to finish the sick.
Soon, you’ll see my awful rowing
among the waves of echoes
with the bubbly sores overflowing
granting me a pass to all ghettos.
With your plague guise, black cloaks and hats,
camphor, air-planes, poppy-cigars
dear Doctor, take me back to the rats
nibbling on their gingerbread stars.