Grenade

a grenade lives in the mouth of the girl you're in love with
tonight you will kiss her
& it will explode
pieces of you in her mouth melting
from holy wafers
to ashes
& troubled water
as she lies naked as sweat running down the gutter of your back
a foetus in a bomb crater...
in your eyes she will face vagina to the wander of stars
piss in the mouths of your gods
who fuck boars & hunt whores
before her teeth–the black canines of night reaps you apart
bread at the last supper
because you’re without-a shadow split in two
you're the finding asking what light is
if not a scar emptied into too much night
you're alone
an adulterer at the dusty sole of christ
quotations of stone soon to be scribed upon your back...
there was a war fully formed
inside the deep-sleeping bone of a latter boy
who made of her cartographies leading to intimacies you'll never know
giving blind ears to calls of POWs fleeing her throat
when your tongue yet stroked below & her head fell back in song
still you do not flee with them
you've confused love for foot that knows from where it does not come
forgetting you are only boy
& regrettably so
an excuse to hate road when you're missing home
to love
& leave her fragments of yourself
even when she lets go long enough to throw you up...

Flock

flock above all sweet sorrow flock above this city of
nameless bodies like a symphony of stars mangazing
twinkling their last – a break of fast over my daunted heart

let me watch you fly the long way home spread your spiteful
wings to find repose in the elasticity of air watch you breathe your
final feuds of fire for the first time…

you visit my lowly chambers solely at night like a horny
husband loiter over everything over my
wandering dreams slit wrists & unrequited sins as though
my satanic soul is not nocturnal enough to serenade
sacraments to peaceful sleep in the tabernacles of hell

but by certain prognoses you’re not only sweet slothful
sorrow you’re orgasmic as the genitalic explosion
of a drone bee in its queen mother

because the grave is aesthetic almost as artful as a serpent’s
gait & we who languish on its fences in the name of country
love or other maladies soon will demand new names
in exchange of lunacy

we whose bodies are roaming cities soon will
lose ourselves in finding

so flock above all sweet sorrow flock the unscrupulous sun
like a lump of human dung squats on this puddle of blood
& the flies flock too like democrats in my country brooding
earnestly at the goodwill of guns guns without silencers
c h a n t i n g the will of god…