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illustration
by Pauline Baynes ©
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Bacchus
and Tumnus drive consumption
while
I pretend
I
am not
allegorically
fantasizing
about
being divine
consciously
or otherwise
I
am crawling for little root Spring
lions
always
eat
the
lamb
grasses
witches
always
wear
sound
wounds
and
wombs
always clothe
the wardrobes
Narnia,
Lewis
knew
me too well
voices
I heard
were desires
grown
into
their own
kingdoms
animalia
here
in my salvation army America
I
am a stray cat and mouse tree
a
theater goer who pees
wearing
a mask and adagio
I
seed my soul
with
crusades and holes
going
round and round
in
a song of forever
that
germinates
by
subscription farm
and
factory installed lever
I
sing
I
am what germs ate
what
became
of
gargoyles on plates
I am bloomed
taste
what’s needed
what’s
propped perched
and
promised
what
is mythology
and garden tools
I too, fool with
why
gnomes and
mushrooms
matter
here
Lewis
modernity
and America
are
not the same
here, I
pretend to care
I
distend my stomach
feed-bagging
logic bared
I dance for manageable
for chaos, hope and quest
here
Lewis
I
arrest my bones
by
not reading
sometimes
watching
life
speed
by me
thought
I admit
I
always read your shit
Lewis,
it makes me reminisce
about
a beat boxing
philly
break dance style
a
late seventies
royal
to tyrannical
early
eighties again
coming
to get me as friends
tin
ceiling-ed in lined
owner
occupied
a
trickle down clown piece
somebody’s
last supper meal
something
to feel is peel and skin
an
assorted well worn thin
a
felt fiber sewn way in
the
story I pass around
creased
to measure time
when
needed
to invest
and intoxicate
to realize
and escape
between lines
between vines
and tines
between lights
and
burrows
grottoes
and
boot
licking
between heel
shows
I
go to
when
I am tired
of
playing myself
a raw feast
for the beast
inside me
between the tops of tables
and what I gamble to the floor
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