A Flaming Corona;
A Woman, illuminated
like a rainbow saint, sanctified
hunched over her laptop
banjo case at her side.
An apple orgasm,
a pitcher of clear water,
a stained glass chandelier,
ruby & umber
i hide under the table,
july
tears me open like azure thunder
i hide, i run for cover
hands over my neck, i shield
and pray for the Holocaust.
A paint-splattered outlet
threatens me,
seduces me, cajoles me with
shrieks and squawks,
like a Mulligan sax,
a mulligan stew of threats, promises
psalms, esoteric lectures
on Irish Literature.
The 1920's come to life again,
wearing a Hibiscus headdress
while the '40s adorns itself in
ebony & ivory
The air smells like hairspray &
stale beer
Purity is not allowed here
Purity is always near
Purity, on the midnight clear
Purity, all that i hold dear
Midnight in the garden of
was and never, all roads tend
to roam, when you are never
here nor there;
perpetual transition
forever off the map,
off the grid,
the long dark juke joint of the soul.
Where bargains are made and struck
like silver coins,
and guitars promise moonlight,
a private beach
a warm bath.
The piano is hairy, barbarous
catches you up in a Latin snare
a salsa care in the world
a stable chair, with which to
sit and stare,
at the void.
Ring around the rosies
pocket full of samsara
pierced like St. Stephen
with Hepatitis needles
We are all martyrs to the faded romance
pressed like prim roses in the massive
tome of repressed emotion.
The motion of the ocean, springing
up with cobra fangs, a Freudian notion
Sex Death Resurrection
What would you give, to realize dreams of flight?
What would you give, for second sight?
What would you give, to lay down yr stage fright?
All this, and more, riddles the
sphinx, before he devours yr lies
for lunch.
All this, before the spiders eat
yr eyes.
All this, before you are cocooned in
serpents,
and you are resurrected as a firefly.
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