Tamerlane
Consider asters glorying amidst russet
and umber hues of a dying season.
But are they truly lovelier than Timur’s
plundered splendors at Samarkand?
To dusty merchants from Genoa,
plodding caravans through leagues
of nothing long after bugs and birds
had done their work, pyramids of skulls
were roadside attractions to gawk at
along the way to the pleasure houses
of Tabriz. Most would never kneel
to render thanks to God in San Siro,
for every torturous journey they swore
would be the last became the one
before the last. If we consider the birds
Saint Luke tells us we’re better than,
we must admit, most respectfully,
to have seen ravens scratch out holes
to hide putrid carrion pecked out
from God knows where. Delicate asters
with the fine lavender petals circling
garnet buttons wither with a first freeze.
A second one kills the garish purple smear
we see as roadside blur. Since death
is the mother of beauty, murder
must be the price for paradise on earth.
and umber hues of a dying season.
But are they truly lovelier than Timur’s
plundered splendors at Samarkand?
To dusty merchants from Genoa,
plodding caravans through leagues
of nothing long after bugs and birds
had done their work, pyramids of skulls
were roadside attractions to gawk at
along the way to the pleasure houses
of Tabriz. Most would never kneel
to render thanks to God in San Siro,
for every torturous journey they swore
would be the last became the one
before the last. If we consider the birds
Saint Luke tells us we’re better than,
we must admit, most respectfully,
to have seen ravens scratch out holes
to hide putrid carrion pecked out
from God knows where. Delicate asters
with the fine lavender petals circling
garnet buttons wither with a first freeze.
A second one kills the garish purple smear
we see as roadside blur. Since death
is the mother of beauty, murder
must be the price for paradise on earth.
