Maddened With Envy After Discovering Divine Musical Gifts


I untied the black ribbon. I tied it ’round

            your breasts. Untied the black

                        ribbon tied it ’round the entire house

            your breasts the sun the black sun.

Worms a hermit thrush a machine gun in the hands

            of the handkerchief-head boy. Surreptitious

                        claims a man from the
Midwest writes

            things that make my face like
Lake Huron

dance into fits of the world & her muses.

            Blasting the dub right of King Tubby boss

                        to the mid-afternoon mourners & shouting

            “Hallelujah to the Chief!” their convoy curves

away away. The cemetery’s next to the soda shoppe.

            All these sad things & the black ribbon untied.

                        Your gray stone is unextraordinary. The evening star

            on the other hand very quietly squirming.

It makes my vagina feel nice. “Swim to me”

            my vagina urged that desperation working

                        your whole life toward absolutely nothing

            salvation mercy hope nor kindness.

My mother died in the worst possible way.

            At the peak of my powers I couldn’t’ve

                        saved her not that she could even take my hand

            in hers to scratch an Instant Win Crazy.

Parakeets by the hundreds swarming over

            tourist destinations long abandoned.

                        They know something’s black. The stones call

            to them their lime-greenness their aquamarine

attacks on the rentals of important media figures

            I can’t but see them joining the various molestations

                        that transfigure hundreds of innocents

            behind those stuccoed walls. Compost makes

for poor conversation. Shoveling makes excellent

            recreation allowing farmers to take a blow

                        hoe their way home from the haunted fields.

            I compose by candlelight the song will

take you shake you break you in three.

            A knowing foul the man’s in the autumn

                        of his summer. A pretty girl on the cover

            of the magazine I leaf through. I wish I knew her name.

I wish all the same you were with me

            when the pope found the subway map

                        next to the screwdriver near the hunchback’s

            corpse. You were not. It’s OK. You’re here

now you breathe & are here. We live in an age

            of empire rocketships these exquisite frozen

                        hors d’oeuvres consumed while we watch

            The Legend of Bigfoot
& the moon rises & rises.