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Poetry From Another Dimension Where Sylvia and Adrienne Have Testes
Like the Hindenburg you float
about my psyche, waiting for saint Elmo
to ignite your hydrogen temper.
"Oh my God! I can't believe it! Oh my God!
She's Burning...They're fallinq from the sky."
Oh, Mother Earth your teat was sweet,
and filled for just a year.
Then quickly sagged as I filled up,
taking away the nourishments of love
you spat about in faerie tales.
She dog, she dog. You
loathsome Delilah, snipping at my hair.
Sphinx-like smugness in your rigor.
Morte, morte, morte.
You bleed me cause you do.
You know you hold your candles well,
you're brass to wax and string
which burns brightly
if not briefly. But you know there's other candles.
You make them all yourself.
I am pliable like beeswax,
inspired by a queen,
to stand and show red hourglass
waiting yet to mate...
devoured when the act is done.
Down, down, down,
the wilted carcass slips,
to lie among the wreckage,
to die among the wreckage,
as mantis-like, you prey for more
Holding scissors, lower still.
Teasing in your voice, making up
for when the boys tied June bugs
to the strings of springtimes past.
"Vasectomy is vengeance, Dear, hold your breath
Don't scream."
You genetic Judas goat of silk-
lined wetness to entice,
your pheromone scent and lotus petals...
You're Medea with a knife.
And I'm drawn like a fly to sugared glue
To land and eat a final meal
of sugared glue.
Of sugared glue.
You are Hitler,
I am Jew.
Without Judea.
Oh, but you still blow me
away. Though I've mandrake root and
belladonna, your witchcraft still gets through
like winter wind, it catches up my pant-leg.
Chilling to the bone.
You stand about, a loaded gun,
with a chambered bullet, me.
waiting to discharge that load,
into my heart goes me. Powered
by your powder. Your rouge, your oils, your cream,
You say that I'm a vampire,
feeding on your blood. But blood is bait,
and bait is blood, waiting to congeal
and crust...over the festering sore
you see as me.
Go see a doctor! Get it fixed!
your plumbing's all fucked up!
I'm not your tool, I'm still my own.
I won't share my guilt with you.
You're the Hindenburg of guilt and you think it's just gas.
End
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