A fever dream inspired by Jan van Bijlert’s The Feast of the Gods
Where Abraham's knife should have been
My eyes roll white toward heaven's indifference
While Roman steel births crimson flowers.
Each arrow a lover's betrayal,
Each wound a mouth that cannot speak
The name of Him who made me hunger
For the salt-sweet taste of forbidden meat.
In te Domine speravi!
But which lord do I call to?
The one who damns this aching flesh
Or the one who sets it trembling?
My loincloth white as driven snow
Conceals the rod of Jesse blooming.
Even as the centurions pierce
The temple veil of my undoing.
In te Domine speravi!
In the garden of Gethsemane
Where Judas kissed with poisoned lips
I taste the poison of my shame
While angels weep and Heaven strips
Away the mask of sanctity
To show the beast that writhes within -
This sebastos, this august thing
That feeds on beautiful young men.
But lo! the arrows multiply
Into a crown of golden rays
And what was piercing becomes caress
Of Apollo with his burning gaze.
The wine-dark blood that flows from wounds
Becomes the vintage of the vine
Where fair Bacchus, androgyne,
Transforms this water into wine.
My bonds become the golden chain
That links desire to desire.
And what was suffering flames bright
As sacred, consecrated fire.
Now see: the table set with flesh
Of pomegranate, fig, and grape.
Each fruit a world, each world a mouth
That opens wide to change my shape
Ecce homo!
Ganymedes pours liquid light
From vessels that once held my tears
While Venus, naked as the truth,
Anoints my head with precious myrrh.
The peacock of Juno spreads
Its hundred eyes to witness this:
How martyrdom becomes communion,
How suffering becomes a kiss.
Ecce homo, behold the man!
Who learned to love what he became
When Roman steel wrote poetry
Across the parchment of his shame.
In halls where gods feast without end
On ambrosial honey, fruit, and wine,
I take my place at the high table
Where mortal flesh becomes divine
No longer bound, no longer pierced
But piercing through the veil of night
That separates the sacred from
The profane. I am the light
That shines in darkness, and the dark
Shall never overcome this flame
That burns from Sodom to Elysium
Speaking love's true name.
Consummatum est.
Poetry by Antonio
Written on 2026-09-25 at 05:36
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The Ecstasy of Saint Sebastian (Ecce Homo)
Marble thighs bound to the olive treeWhere Abraham's knife should have been
My eyes roll white toward heaven's indifference
While Roman steel births crimson flowers.
Each arrow a lover's betrayal,
Each wound a mouth that cannot speak
The name of Him who made me hunger
For the salt-sweet taste of forbidden meat.
In te Domine speravi!
But which lord do I call to?
The one who damns this aching flesh
Or the one who sets it trembling?
My loincloth white as driven snow
Conceals the rod of Jesse blooming.
Even as the centurions pierce
The temple veil of my undoing.
In te Domine speravi!
In the garden of Gethsemane
Where Judas kissed with poisoned lips
I taste the poison of my shame
While angels weep and Heaven strips
Away the mask of sanctity
To show the beast that writhes within -
This sebastos, this august thing
That feeds on beautiful young men.
But lo! the arrows multiply
Into a crown of golden rays
And what was piercing becomes caress
Of Apollo with his burning gaze.
The wine-dark blood that flows from wounds
Becomes the vintage of the vine
Where fair Bacchus, androgyne,
Transforms this water into wine.
My bonds become the golden chain
That links desire to desire.
And what was suffering flames bright
As sacred, consecrated fire.
Now see: the table set with flesh
Of pomegranate, fig, and grape.
Each fruit a world, each world a mouth
That opens wide to change my shape
Ecce homo!
Ganymedes pours liquid light
From vessels that once held my tears
While Venus, naked as the truth,
Anoints my head with precious myrrh.
The peacock of Juno spreads
Its hundred eyes to witness this:
How martyrdom becomes communion,
How suffering becomes a kiss.
Ecce homo, behold the man!
Who learned to love what he became
When Roman steel wrote poetry
Across the parchment of his shame.
In halls where gods feast without end
On ambrosial honey, fruit, and wine,
I take my place at the high table
Where mortal flesh becomes divine
No longer bound, no longer pierced
But piercing through the veil of night
That separates the sacred from
The profane. I am the light
That shines in darkness, and the dark
Shall never overcome this flame
That burns from Sodom to Elysium
Speaking love's true name.
Consummatum est.
Poetry by Antonio
Written on 2026-09-25 at 05:36
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
