The System is Ruined
A silver spoon; a crack
pipe. I love you, pieces
and all. God is a green
thumbed woman—pierced
nose like a bull, eyes like
stuffed gray boulders.
Chrysanthemum hands—
petals that shape earth to heart.
Lance of Longinus,
phallic and misplaced.
Tonsils like an arched high
way—I want to swallow.
My throat is a guarded clitoris;
the sidewalk on 14th
is a battleground. If
a purple hued comet
broke our monotony like fist
through arcade screen or
small hands to cosmic dust
back into quarks or the
magic between the fingertips
of a pianist; I would still
love you. Suffering and
all.
Tibia: support beam,
trash can foundation;
dreams of pataphysics, dreams
abject—sullen from trials of justice.
I repent to the wind; to the
marrow and the soil, the blood
yet to flow from a river, bleeding
Bacchus red—drowning in polka-dot pollution green