The Man

It is so simple. Not
I mean to say wasting life
over love.
I light candles. I follow
phantoms down the street. They are
never her.
Here I am
Who will
have me, in my bones, and crooked
joint. Who will crawl
under the covers and join
head to head, secret plot, the
sacred spot.
                           So that there will be no face
before yours in the mirror.

Who is she and what is she
to me that I should hunger silently
at the moon, thin cunt in the sky
apple of my eye, that god be
delivered in the dawn, surrender
his daughter to this crippled son.

Oh country of hunchbacks, I
                walk with my shoulders
       to the wall. Green lead in my pencil.
Cover over the 1000 nights
to this place: T E M P L E

Knight Templar of the Holy Grail,
holy oil on my head.
                                     & I sack the place.
Do up the altar, black mechanics.
The flashing of silver spikes
                            in the night. The strapping
of belts and cooking of evil fires
                         Spoons and eyedroppers,
slapping of flesh, sucking of blood,
                              hitting veins with
                              dirty needles.
What a way to start the day.
After this long journey
                                                To stop here
and know I go no more.

There is no god
powerful enough to end this
                         deadend, this place of pure rapture.

                                                                                                                   June 11
Think of the hundred hotels
     with nothing in them
         but a radio and opium pipes