It is forbidden to wake up the gods
they are not dead at all,
the ancient gods of Grecian poesy,
they are asleep....Oscar Wilde: The Burden of Itys
It is forbidden to wake up the gods,
To awaken Ganymede, the cupbearing boy—
His limp white penis, small as a twig,
Resting on the leg of snoring Zeus:
To stir gentle Narcissus, lying naked
And hard, lost in a dream of himself:
To rouse beautiful Endymion,
Dormant and silver under the moon,
Whom everyone loves, forever a youth
As long as he stays asleep.
Don't disturb Orestes and Pylades,
Embraced in each other's arms
In a black cave, hiding from terror,
In a flight before the hideous Furies.
Don't touch Hyacinthus, fast asleep
In Apollo's shadow, struck down
By the lust of the shining god....
In the shade of Olympus, in the groves
Of quietness, in the valley of evening,
The gods lie as if drugged by love's
Exhaustion, ensheathed in the warmth
Of the thighs of boys, in virtual light,
At the end of an age, the gods have
Forgotten about us and our twilight
Dragon world. The immortals dream
Of what belongs to themselves alone:
The deeds and tales of love that occur.