The Secret Ministries of Dawn
In the rising secret ministries of dawn
the one the spurned lover knows
he rubs her large sagging breasts beneath
the sheets, I’ve got a headache, she whispers
the morning is coming on in swimming
dapples of yellow and red, the colour
of hot blood, of excuses, fusing as one.
Now he turns and imagines he is taking
her as she once was- youthful, exuberant
boing boing boing. The swollen gyrations
of his consciousness pumping deep into
her bucking thighs boing boing boing.
High above the escarpment a sole
white cloud scrolls across the sky
Danger Falling Man
Etherized upon the table
like a China doll
text tongue-tied/
flashes of a falling brunette.
Imagine these lines scrawled
in incredibly small handwriting
only decipherable thru a microscope:
in his youth he believed in palindromes
& post-it notes to the universe-
if you’re pushy, he’ll show you his catheter.
He wakes up hung-over
a borrowed flower made fearful
like when he first ate spinach
& found a dandelion to wish upon.
