thursday in the moon and stars  
while their ghetto guitars
were heating and loud cars were yearning
and brimming again she'd cry instead of weep so shockingly
and plaster the walls with paper knobs

this rocket her in boots had awoken in harmony
where yesterday's obsession was stale perfume

in a season of these jolly giants they'd strangely gangrene
a station with Rapunzel and her raps and pictures
that in zesty cornflower she'd let her hair down
till a rain shower grew over her eye in the sky
then her pilot saw such a cloudburst and jettison her
deeper in the ground where she laid the beast

The tips of my toes curl
fold inwardly like noisemaker blowouts
like the feet of the wicked witch of the east
I was always envious of the tongue flicker her feet took
the slug slithering into its’ shell
my hands are always sweating pools into a liver shaped pond
and this is where I lie
in the altar of altruism
into the bucket womb of the dark
where I prop myself against the saints I’ve collected
each one with hands clasped
each one never saying the prayers I want to hear
the one that will console me
the one that will **** my pupils dry
I think I hear it
but it’s time to dust the pagan guardians again
it’s time to light the candle
the flame licking my hair
sending it into a sizzle that smells
like a butcher’s shop
my eyes the color of kidney beans splitting
I want the angels to help
to promise me that I won’t be bad again
that the good in me is the good
in those that never get sick during the flu season
I am eternity stuck underneath lamplight
waiting for that bell to toll
to announce the coming of the
moment where I will
more monk than human
more enlightened than domestic cat
more blissful contemplation than damnation