Wednesday, April 17, 2013


I remember the concentration camp of pleasure
where we lived together
like a pornographic trailer park on fire
and the wide hills and brittle railways
over and upon us
in a breaking tumult of old pine,
dying sun, breakfast on acid ground
in lichened courtyard, marble seats
on claw-retreating paws
and the world without teeth
falling sideways through
a mud cathedral;

these memories I've bombarded
that still dance figures into
my flesh, still shape
the twilight to a tongue of clay spade
and that cat that never came home
is chewing my rubber toe
on the hot rock doorstep
mange-painted and bloodshot

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