Desert-charred quadriplegic dies
His final word mingling with Italian skies,
Crawling under trim fingernails.
A painted lady annoys
The ecstasy of the woodland festival,
Twirling hoops of fire around the
Pagan’s phallic ivory tower,
Whooping ancient cries, begging for smoggy rain
Begging for a rash.
¿Has visto a mi amor?
the last I saw of him, he was growing
stubble upon his chin,
pondering the meaning of,
A knight-errant, green stone set deep into his brow
Drove his horse straight into a river,
Just to see if the veins of mother Gaia
Would send white-blood cells
To die against the point of his spear.
I rest my head on Cleopatra’s lap,
Smelling her feminine mystique as it wets sand,
The slaves jump for joy
And pull, pull, pull,
The nose right off the painted sphinx.
She pets my head, asking if I’m ready
For the afterlife, asking if I’m ready
For hooks to meander up my nose,
Like the incense smoke that masks the scent of
Sweat dripping from my emerald forehead
As she pulls, pulls, pulls.
Charon turns the rotting hull towards
A rocky fjord, saying,
“We just have to make a quick stop,
I, uh, well, I have a date with Hecate,
And I haven’t been laid in a coons age.”
“you know I’m a sucker for sad eyes,
don’t you my love?
you know I love
that look you give when one of your peers
vomits ignorance onto your vans?”
you know I will leave you, first chance I get?
“where will you go, my love,
where can you go?”
A valley, pockmarked with evergreens
and wolf tracks, hides a solitary road
devoid of forks. Somewhere behind,
a stork’s hideous laugh encourages
Los Angeles finest lady
Stays up all night,
Perfecting the spiraling motion
Of her eagle-feather pen,
Dripping acidic ink
Onto parchment made of moor skin,
Dictating a culling song
Aimed at her ex-boyfriends
Slung around a porcelain lover
Here comes the truth
I’m in a slump.
I’m on rumspringa.
I lay down, just for a moment,
Upon the beautiful uncut hair of graves,
And tuck Whitman’s soul
Into a hidden pocket in my disheveled flannel.
“So there is some happiness in you after all?”
only because I know who I am,
only because I know what I’m not.
“Kiss me, my love,
and be healed of these visions.
Quiet your mind,
cease this division,
let my breath heat your pineal gland,
and my hands cradle your heart,
my body shall be a crutch
to straighten your frame,
we will smell springs lustful wanderings,
and chase her to the shore.
Our feet won’t be interrupted by
the lapping of the ocean,
the gulls will boast
of our love, if set in motion.
Cast your fear out to sea,
And your memories with it,
Put them in a bottle
Full of multicolored pebbles,
So they may sink, and provide anchor
For the nimble bull kelp’s
Kiss me, my love,
And be healed of these visions.”
Only because I know who I am.
I’m in a slump.
Only because I know what I’m not.