John Howling to the People of Earth

John Howling to the People of Earth

Call me John Howling

For lack of a better name,

Winged warrior poet

Watching the whole

From cratered celestial throne

Lunar lighting illuminates

You, children of Adam,

Fathers of gods,

Would you like answers?

Yes, I’ve read all your minds

Your cyclical time

Man made from water,

Would you like answers?

A bonobo chimp lazily

Sucks the genitalia of

Its neighbor,

Forgiveness on the tip

Of its tongue.

Their genetic cousins

Wage war with sticks

And stones, clawing

Almost human eyes,

Hateful saliva dripping

From their fangs.

 

You, man made from water

Exist on this spectrum.

Killing and fucking.

Killing and fucking.

 

Listen close, daughters of Eve,

Mothers of culture,

I will sell you the truth

For a minute of eye contact.

 

Do not diffuse the body

And soul, ven diagrams

Of life crossing paths

Here, crossing, here.

You are infinite, and

In that you are nothing,

Crossing here.

 

Man made from water

Four lies, added up

One truth. Listen.

 

Pulsating pinks, vibrant

Attacks of green,

The bass kicks from

Inside speakers, tribal rhythm

Pounding out a Morse code

Of freedom.

Connected at the hips

Sweat rolls down

Tan, young foreheads.

Disheveled dark hair belonging

To her highlights the

Intoxicating effect of

Beer, love, LSD, music,

Love. lanky arms run

Through coarse facial hair

Of the mountain she holds dear.

Pressed against her ass

Colors and colors and colors

Musicians scream clichés

Pressed against her ass.

These two gyrate

A rhythm not theirs

Into each others sexual sites,

Surrounded by so many

Lost entirely

They own the world.

 

The ship, for it was a ship

Had stopped moving

Hours, how many,

Hours ago. Inside out

Seals wrapped in leather straps

Won’t keep him alive

Much longer.

He doesn’t regret anything.

The ma’am will look

Beautiful in her funeral black,

She will bury an empty box.

The world must be mapped,

The empty spots must be

Sketched, men made of water

Hate what they don’t know,

Hate the idea that ignorance

Is surprisingly human.

He sent the last of them away

Hours, how many,

Hours ago. Better they die

Away from the creaking

Stench of barnacles, the cracking

Of main lines in blizzard winds.

Better they die away from

This reminder of all they

Are about to lose. Icicles cling to his

Beard, his eyebrows,

His nose stopped running

Hours ago. Only he,

Captain, O captain,

Should have to suffer

In the snow drifts that will consume

His ship. Already dead, already alone

He has one last sad vision of home

And of the beautiful Ma’am

He married for money,

He married so he could escape to Antarctic apocalypse.

 

Man made of water,

I, John Howling

Am watching,

I, John Howling

Am speaking.

Here are your answers.

 

The narcotic slurred

His aesthete Victorian voice.

“Do mine eyes deceive me?

Do you not sleep with a man

Other than me? show me where

He excreted his vile fluid,

Was it your stomach?

You are a whore, a witch,

Treacherous and evil, you are

The daughter of eve,

Have thine eyes never considered

Corinthians?

Do mine eyes deceive me?”

Tears drench her pasty

Pale white cheeks,

The corset choking

The beautiful emotional response

Out of her chest,

Out of her heart.

His surprise boils,

His unjustified fury

Hurts his feet, his clenched hands

Sweat, heroin and tobacco

And booze and the lingering sent

Of the whore house

All pour out

Beaded liquid.

He won’t hit her, he won’t leave her,

He will sit on the couch,

Smoke another cigarette,

And lament his wife’s treacherous

Social rebellion, spewing wit

From the same place

She received a liberating

Load, driven straight

Into her stomach.

 

Crossing here.

 

The heat had been too much

The bugs had been too much

She would still be alive

If only they had parked the trailer

Somewhere else. Somewhere

Temperate. She oozed what remained

Of her life onto the plastic covered

Sofa. Coagulation sets in around

Fifteen minutes, from her

Flowed the river styx. Sad,

Dull faced, she had it coming,

He repeats, again

She had it coming

And again.

The boredom of the lower classes

Wasn’t imprinted on what remained

Of her face. Her right eye

Spoke, sung, of repulsion

Of regret, of a life denied,

Her left was missing.

Caved in nose

Uncomfortably close to a

Lower jaw, unclean teeth

Meeting nostril.

She had it coming.

He had told her everything

And she had met him with

Contempt.

Therefore,

She had it coming.

His knuckles, exposed

Bare, the velvet white of

Knuckle bones, bloodshot

Tattoos dripping her life live

In tangent with

Bare knuckle bones.

Her skull had been easy

To crack, to turn into some

Primordial soup.

He had always told her

He would do it,

She had always dodged.

Why hadn’t she.

No, she had it coming.

The sirens play their wonderful

Horns, carried over the

Hot air in a murky

Haze, drawn to the intact

Eye that still stared,

As if at,

The worst of us.

 

Man made of water,

I am honored, delighted

ashamed of you.

Man made of water,

Don’t listen to my

Answers, you have proven

Infinite, and in that

Nothing.

One thought on “John Howling to the People of Earth

  1. really cool. the ending was definitely a surprise, even though i realize now it was obviously on its way from the way the narrator described her. i like how sensual the imagery you paint is.

    Like

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