and who says the
dandy is hollow?
Our bodies are filled with
gold dust, darling.
We just cannot help
but bleed.

Cannot pretend  
to be  
a prophet

If I lie with my arms in the ocean,
maybe
I’ll drown

the sense you left me with –

irrevocable, little ways to remind myself
of all the James’s yet to come –

I called myself a
people person
because (like the way some other God

made men from the mud)

I’d take all the ****
buried in this perineal stare of mine
and make another lover

To call me his
Apollo.

I cannot pretend
to know the secrets
stags fell with silver tears.

Perineal tears to take
my ******* breathe away

  
or suffocate me the way
fog always used to do.

Still,
during stagnant blue hours -
I had a rabbit heart, a rabid mind,
and your ghost makes the illusion
burn so much
faster that now

When I wait,
I wait only for the
thunder.

i.

There’s a way with words
   us  ancient boys

Cannot comprehend.

All of us, so transfixed
by spires black
in white skies

That the night seems
almost

sublime.

The way
we held them by the throat
in the hours

Dionysus had us by the neck.

Strung us up by cigarette smoke

Lets not go to bed yet –

    Dawn and her ****** chariots

Needs to know we
succeeded.

Wash out the spots from our foreheads,
boys,
let not the God’s
see
we
won
the battles
they could not.


ii.

I wake up
one morning
on a beach,
naked in the sunlight.


If this was paradise lost,
I’d have the nerve
to call myself an angel.

The ****** thrill of it;

[Burn me, beautiful, blazing sunlight,
give a kiss to your old,
Jail bird
lover.]


iii.

How many times did
we fall down that ******* rabbit hole?

I’ve ripped out my gold teeth one by
one
and ****** the apple with my tongue.

I’ve torn holes in the ceiling of heaven

And still

Your arms have stained me.

I shiver at the thought of it;

Cracked nights,

Erecting temples in honour
of
Eros.

When the thunder beats,
I cry because I know
Priapus is here
to slay me.


iv.


there’s a white sheet
over my balcony, now.

I milked the columns
till my bones ached

And my body
was bruised with dirt.

I’ve beat myself
till the milk ran
dry
and still,
  that God demands
I scream.

v.

      [later]
The ocean can see me weeping, darling
but the forest,
the forest
can still still hear me
moan.