Category: Poetry for mojo 10

settling score chores /       may have /         left me a little happily-ever-breathless /

 

but what are these millions worth /           w/o  a reunion      /                          before closing /

 

credits     /                            come up cocoon  /                    wrap this bitch /

 

up   /        in emergency blanket    /                             present /

 

her   /       to me      /         patient among emergency scurry /                                   waiting/

 

greasy /                                                    with appreciation /

 

exhausted /         scene in front of the exhaust /

 

of an ambulance  /    complete with  surrogate    /   child   /

 

I happened to save /

not for nothin’ mind you /

 

another gun shot notch /                                   my shoulder caught /

 

happens so often I forgot /

 

she calls me /                courage

 

sometimes we lock lips  /

 

making the previous battle  /

 

penultimate

 

and tear-ups only after /

 

math

i collect your blood          so i can lose it

although my ideal mate will always be

a morphine drip          i’m scoping out

potential callers w/ my radar gun aflutter

press on my           robot fontanel &

watch my gears grind underwater

the sea belongs        to absent fathers

an utmost lonely bound by lo-fi

acrimony         the aches & moans

that make us itch for broken bones

so many               molotov cocktails

i confused w/ mazel tov

so many silly       awkward pauses

i could have been filling up

w/ dopamine      & frantic gaud

A spine curls. The road empties. An angel grows into your shoulder. A page. A road. Written

into by feet.

Then a palimpsest, waiting to be unfound, undone, unwritten, waking and walking in ink, the

road, the page, rewritten and written again.

Then, beside the asphalt, a forest of eraser-faced children, sing from the mouth of trees. You’ve

named the angle in your shoulder Armageddon. It is a prophet, lost in and in love with its own

ecstasy, while watching from atop a mountain the marriage of his beloved.

The road curves. Upon the acclivity, you watch children sing. A quiet roar, pages yellowing, a

silverfish being borne upon your finger.

Evaporation is revelation, the angel whispers. It grows larger, into your spine. My demon lives

wildly, you think, as you feel wings protrude from your neck.

Then the page, the road, alight with yellowed ink, but you cannot see what you’ve unwritten, and

what’s been written over.

A spine curls. Around you, eraser faced children sing. They vibrate a song into your eye. Your

hand begins to hum.

A page of steam, broken by your shadow, waits for you to move.