T
(written after scraping off my beard with
a sharp piece of steel)
with what big Prophet
clinging; clanging
making judicious claims
about coffee and vomiting
my obsessions
and the 28lb head of
Allen Ginsberg
blocking my esophagus.
and with lukewarm water
i can feel it coming but
i can barely stand
and everybody's knocking on the door
and walking in the door
and i can't have even one
moment to purge my digestive
system of something i
haven't eaten.
i can still feel the cold metallic
three-fingered hand scraping
every single hair off my
face by her bequest
every single hair off my
allenginsberghead.
\this head that i cannot
give or receive stuck
in my esophagus blocking
the flow and stopping the
feeling-- numbing
the whole of me
below my waist.
was i at a supermarket?
was i buying meat?
i can't even hold onto the
images of myself buying
the tanned hides of
animals
But some girl in a leather
jacket couldn't say what
she was saying
couldn't admit that she
was playing
cause there's a a difference
between a he and a she
and there's a
Farmer's Market image of
me.
GRowing between the
Cabbages and Kale
living my life like a BroccoliCelery
sucking my MATRIMONY from the
warm brown earth.
before being packaged in plastic
and purchased for $3.95.
there's a bondage at play
and a bondage that's never seen the
light of day
and a man who can talk about
Princess Leia fantasies out loud
on television
and another old man on a bike
with red sox and black
converse and a judicious
stare for my mother.
Another step of a stair for my great
grand
mother.
and an old woman with a face
like Gertrude Stein
with a mind so unlike mine
she lined that weather-beaten
farmhouse
until the day they discovered
a Tibetan prayer bell
hiding in her basement
they're Kentucky proud and
they're not pressing charges
leaving other Prouds
to clean up the damages
I gotta clean up after myself
(and before myself)
i just need to know where
to pour out my stomach
and
who
to make checks
payable to.