4.7
I took a left this time, I didn't even know
I was looking at Megatornadoes ripping off a scab
Of soil--What allowed it was my
Stillness, his grizzled, bony face and sulfurous rain--See
The way she works it, up on the garden wire
The wild turkey creeping, eating
Some rocks, she leaned in, I could smell her
Something fleeing through the woods, leaving the road
Suspecting Nazareth was somewhere
In the burning slag squeezing its titties together, in bogs of
Red algae, drifting rivers of cold mud carrying
Gravel and branches, sitting on my porch
Taking pot shots at squirrels and birds, I found your icon
In the rotten chest, it was plastic but like pearly wax
A candle burning in a basilica of ice, I decided
To descend into the ravine rather than climb
The stones, the cacti huddled under their own weight
Like great rancid signposts or inverted
Nooses of thorns, even a green brain unwinding itself
In the indeterminacies of opening
Fissures, vast stony rents, fulminating
Towers of smoke coming, coming oh shit
I stood at the top of four water slides with my inner-tube
Gulls screaming circles around it like
It was a trash barge, the whale corpse drifting overhead
With a stillborn sun between its gray lip meat
My feet splitting, my cheeks splitting when I reached
The bottom, began to dig, just
Slipped my fingers in there, stroking
Some dead from some dead, her dogs
On fire, grandma on fire, her: on fire--Dig dig
Dig, the world hemorrhages, mummies of fascists
Take turns sodomizing the zombies of popes
While acidifying sea water fills Vatican treasure houses
Silver organs pulse in a clear, viscous jellyfish hood
Beneath the crystal atmosphere of a derelict iceberg--I dig
Though its night, I see because the hills burn
And I smell water, Lord, give it up
For the band, up to my shoulders in sand
I call that last number mo-pocalypse
I've ruined my pants
And even the fires in the hills die
Breathing in scorched air
...