Un-to the Sepulcher
(slow of heart)
How did I awake? No boulder needed pushing aside
although it felt that way, tallying eight deaths, a little blue
in the sky (notice the compact size), dressing for mass
downtown where design imprisons, where the spires
quiver tentacular, and the sinners, their futility, trying
to erase the X marks on their hand backs. Mary, Mary,
quiet St. Mary fetishizes ideas of baby, of contracts,
punks put out on her cheeks, diving head first nude
into pool water drank and flicked onto sinners, those
dehydrated Caucasians day drinking and hung over
indoor ponds, water pouring from golden decanters
onto infant crowns, mothers smiling ecstatic and wild,
fathers a blur the congregation cannot see, their tan lines
nothing but lines, but seen, giving the bends to fantasies
of inner tubes in lazy rivers of megamalls in late afternoon
light, waterfalls soothing me to sleep… How did I awake?
In a glass hexagon cell on cushions, glared at, my soul
mate’s nipples perked and I am feeling like I am falling
asleep to a thousand Newton’s cradles clicking, clacking
and sinners neighing holy holy holy holy holy holy holy
* and the scintillas tumble out of my soul mate’s purse
onto onyx tiles, my cirrhotic mania devolving into cackles
ringing off the porcelain toilet where my caca sinks like
macaws of smoke. It is said: It’s not what is done, but what thou call it.
Stunts, stick ups and lust. The outlined creases between her thighs.
The laughter thru her hair is hers, yes, as she takes down her panties,
looking close up at the third world details of my dark sneaker
with her weed eyes. At peace, I said unto her: My god, if only
I could put a little order to it. : Rab-bo’ni, which is to say, Master.