35. MISPLACED ETCHING

       I’m a horse that can’t be
subdued or consumed
eternal mane-flame
       flowing over you
sweetlings of flower-puffs

       strewn through fields
of invented inanimate heavenlies
of which I float
       through your bosom
My eyes are sharper

       than the vulture
& is it any wonder
I’ve become a scavenger
       in this world
that’s gone to hell

       in a breadbasket
that I feed on
Bring back the universal
       flood next time it’ll be
fire & the earth will

       rise like leaven
& the patriarchs will burn
will burn like witches
       at the stake

you can wear camouflage 

       but I still see you
through you because “Time
is corroded from within,
       exactly like an organism”
(E.M. Cioran)
 

       don’t I resemble
an organism to you?
a lack of visibility?
       anything? I go around
the bandaged globe
  

       of paganism in how 

many days “in no time”

I should’ve been a rebel
       WITH a cause
wishing I could go back
 

       in time & join my old boss
who was born
in New Hampshire
       who hung out with Mafia
in New York City
 

       hung out later
with Hell’s Angels
in some other inflamed
       city of madness
but I’m the anti-type
 

       the underling
the freshest prince of all because
I fire at Will
       I’m a nativity scene
I just want you to hold me
 

       like a child in his mother’s arms
I arise to weep for death
we’re all black on the inside
       snoring
like morning glories