Communion

A mortal in his life enjoys

            the use of fragile wonderous toys

And till my scalp does meet with sword

            I'll glory daily in the lord

From Lucifer suckled and born in sin

            I kneel open-mouthed, ready, to take you in

Though atheism seems much safer

            my tongue, it aches to taste your wafer

Lord I glory in this cock

            which, barnacled, sits at the dock

Lord I pray to keep this tongue

            with beads of salty pleasure wrung

God I worship with these eyes

            each, to the heavens, your glory pries

Lord I glory in those curves

            which only mortal man deserves

God, exultant is this nose

            your world infects with spectral prose

Lord I glory in each crease

            wreathed all around by brownish fleece

My prayers take form in each curved ear

            whose shaking makes stark hymns, and dear

This skin, light pink, with hair imbued

            spares me your vissiccitude

Cloudbourne you, must hardly see

            the droplets you inflict on me

In slanted paths your armies sud

            from Gulf to spirit, rain to blood

Your stomach is a crucible

            in which I, pitied morsel, cull

Each moment I in leisure set

            is calculated in my debt

And in this cauldron set on high

            my ears they strain to hear God's cry

"Children!" he screams to mortal kin

            "Communion is a taking in!"

Sepia Empire

Small in Buddah's lap

he sits as darkness falls

as it does                     

    on all things

in black and white photographs.

As I Move West

Cloudspill in the low parts;

A river flows on another’s back

And like the river it is drawn apart,

But it is sagging and broken in spots

Like the Baybridge sagging after the quake.

I take a breath of your air

Opening slow to fill the spaces

I have emptied into you.

I know the skin rots

Slowly: faces drain off like farmland

Splotched with green in wetter places,

Stained dark reds where it was scarred

And with the high plains finely cracked.

You are young enough that you can’t help

Being evenly moistened and lovely –

But as I move West from Indiana

Things don’t look so good.

You know me and I know

To leave well enough alone sometimes;

But building yourself in terraced monuments

Worries me, and all these scaffolds

Will be your burden, not mine.

You need to be low enough for clouds

To caress your knotted back

If I cannot,

     or want not,

                                     as I move West.

Cuerpo

I

Pearish for its sex

of passive glances

and living

in its own concave

of absences

made of iced creams

scooped and

reddened on the bones

unbridging

too much known.

II

Body of woman

and the situation

of stilts on the bottom

make easy on top

the dwelling

of what

is the swelling

and sinking

of light concentrating

in sacks holding nothing.

Of Love And Whales

People, my people,

        If we all work together,

              we can lower these standards 
                       yet!

Romantic Era Cave Artist

What pretty lines the generals draw

Crouched in tents at 4 AM

Grey lines, blue lines, sinews twist

Upon Marsailles and back again

Waterloo, Manassas they

Roll off the tongue so easily

Men in red and men in black

Force yellow columns to the sea

Bullets bayonets and sabers

killed young soldiers by the score

But others died at home in bed

Theyr'e just as dead (and maybe more)

On holidays no songs are sung

For those who died of Syphillis

And any pain the bullet caused

Was healed by loamy earth's sweet kiss

And now as my eyes sweep the hills

There are no cannons to be seen

No happy crouching bearded men

To weave an orange thread through a green

Porch Warsong

On my front porch

            Are severed heads

                        Impaled on sharpened sticks

To mark my victories

            Warn you away

                        Keep you from knowing my middle name

But I come home to find you

                                                sitting bored

                                                                      on my front steps