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art by David Ho
©
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every birth inside the Golden Dawn Lottery Bibles
(a poem composed with the help of the ghost
of Shirley Jackson)
sickened and quickened
a ticket voucher system hurls
along broken down highways
easy pass storms are coming
we seek shelter in the exposed concrete
we shove our faces until
we are full of rust
we know how to steal the Dawn
keeping our wallets, a handy quiet cull
the seed birds kill off the blue jays
they are told to beware of noisy thieves
who make you think despite the loss of eyes
sand bar tides scratch and dent metal maternity
wards
bubble wrap disco parties with Crisco-lard
squeeze shimmy time
is now a national rave, though something is
missing
can you taste absence in the bug juice
the vendors outside the gates kept shouting
as we filed through with our hands out
the smell of death was beside us, neon
signs blinking
and flashing Jonestown revelries in Morse
code
cup after cup the uteri were all gone
left longing for roots and placenta
companionship
the rise in accepting less information
delays heaven, as voices in the dark,
whisper
this ignites every sepulcher fantasy
culture
and normal is only a means to be stoned
with
we carry each of ourselves in a bottle as
an imp
we name our baggage
we give it terms of construction, destruction
and re-build
we go forth looking for shapes in the dark,
revolver blind bluffing
we feel our way, Russian roulette at the
wheel
tell me something, are we still missing
can I kiss you right here before the gates
let us in
can I cling to whatever forever you
remember us in
can we wait until the Sun rises over the
steep roofs
on the other side of the street and while we
stand
can we pretend to know what the birds used
to sing
EJR ©
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