am i
heir to this rage?
whose fucking bed is this?
oh frightening, colossal star god,
it’s mine
my plans:
constellations
(silly lines drawn between
one explosion and another) –
fine art
in dreams
i crack my belt
over dad’s ass until
he’s trembling like mom did when he
moved out
waiting
in a room made
of paintings for the news
that day soon breaks to spill but not
on her
every
sand grain a cell:
little hourglass full
of malignancy: ill tidings:
half full
Nothing can eat my mother
With the sublime protection
Of my knightly ritual
I make a sign of circles
To trace the sign of the star
(Nix comprises the phoenix)
And through son, mother saves self
momma
talks to lamb light
he hurts her just to teach
so i don’t capitalize god
no more
mom’s lost upstairs reading the bible
and dad’s away somewhere trying to fix a leaky clock
and my brother has me to copy
of course we both wind up watching clocks
and reading bibles by orange light
on black evenings
mumbling holy passages
and pacing down growing, hardwood hallways
that stretch across state lines
each of us pretty busy
so we never quite bump into each other
⨀ 