The experiment seems
to have worked fine,
for the doctor. For me, a lesion.
A kernel of all I hate and love
fastened to my feet, my baggage.
I’ve carried it around for months,
a man condemned to quicksand.
I pop the analgesics, a fatman
eating bon bons, a cadillac
on a drinking binge. Nerves
a plate of jello dancing a mambo.
Nightmares done up in drag:
my mother, my father, my lover,
her lover, prance around me
like a Maypole.
I consume the carcass of a flower.
I speak a dead language.
I am the tornado’s eye
counting the bones
words come with wind asking to be heard.
they shatter windows. they crawl into bed
and try to sleep.
I watch her flee the premises,
the clouds of a running storm.
I coil the world, a swollen snake.
I prospect the hidden gold,
the wholeness that hides in my closet.
I wear it, not ironing out the wrinkles
from weeks without use.
I murder fleeting moments with dreams
because I know what will happen at dawn.
I work at counting the bones.
the surrealist explains his smile
parables are the knives of the tongue with hidden teeth–
they bite, chew and break down everything to seeds
of the home we grow from with silent hands\
and eyes that bumble and drool like rain.
we buy band-aids to bind our leaking credit cards.
their blood’s a practical substitute for what we breathe–
they’re demanding names at the gate.
have your social security card ready.
bring toothbrush and toilet paper,
remember deodorant too–
it gets hot in here!
the price of poultry has risen.
so has the price of its eggs.
at first a paranoia:
poultry farmers found out my like of chicken
and wanted to put my stomach out of business.
force my diet to a standstill.
then I heard of the influenza that had stricken them,
a genocide—mass graves full of one hundred thousand
bodies of feathers.
tonight I’ll eat black beans and rice,
typically Latin American
and high in protein too.
somewhere in some heaven
the chicken-god is angry
at his people.
a dictator lives
in a den of wolves
and feeds them
with luscious parts
of his body
once they’ve got
he unleashes them
on their own country
which they chew up
with teeth gnashing
ripping the heart
from every body
that refuses to hear his
doctrine scratched on
a sacred scroll
this land of great distractions
there’s always a movie
a comedy of errors
that distracts us from the truth
perilously passing by
I cry you cry and all of us die
nameless sticks of meat
sold at a local bodega
managed by illegal aliens
who hopped over a rundown wall
way down south
who cares we’re witnesses
by a National Guard trained
to aim an AK47
down a baby’s throat
who never gets milk