Nothing here glitters, hence it must be real. So repulsed
I am with me; even the one-eyed dog mourns, his bark
a damp excoriation of the night. Let me be selfless,
a funnel for fire-pills. I must envelop God,
must inject her into my nostrils as if she was lard.
Must vibrate like wire pulled and strung: my vertebrae
all copper-din, blue as the sinner who
kilned them. What apparatus of human am I,
with my crotch of feathers, my hair tugging
at the floor like a beggar, tonguing half-straws
from mirror-shards. Inhabited I am by a moon: fossilized,
a togaed slut. She’ll throw me at any chromatic thing.
Is the music over soon? I never wanted to be here.
Consider the ants on the bathroom tile multiplying like debt.
Consider the gremlins under their umbrellas,
their furious thumbs sprouting dollar-bills
ad infinitum. How much more of rolling up cigarettes,
curling up inside God’s ear, salting and frying year after year
spent away from my self? Apologetic I grow only for
the sugar-cube, and the years brooding
on the rain-glazed couch crouched waterside. When the self
leaves me, the cathedral fills, and God examines
us via rabbit hearts buried in caskets. Disco balls. Acid tabs:
ponies are galloping my cells. Each of their hoofs
fuming its own story, shouting supplications
inside our asylum of bodies.