Sep 2012
I. introitus
you join the procession of the
weeping daughters of jerusalem
but you
arent sure what theyre
weeping about.
perhaps they weep because they saw you
shipwrecked on the shores of
my body—
the fishermen howl, their painstakingly
hewn vessel
lost to the south wind.
or perhaps because you
charted my topography climbed up
my ******* and never came back
perhaps someone has died,
possibly you.
at your own funeral, you shed no tears.
II. kyrie eleison
at 8:56 am on judgment day
the cicadas start to
scrape against my skull
roaring like the lionesses that
rip open your chest in the tall grass they
lick your blood from their fur, pick
your bones from between their teeth and
recede, sated, into the
shade
the hyenas arrive at sun-
set and leave only
the weeds to glut
themselves
on your carcass.
III. sequentia
its all just flashes of course: the whys and wherewereyous and the
wildness in your eyes that said if someone snapped your neck i mean wrung it like a spring hen
you would still
be staring into some vision only you could
see.
sometimes it is not enough to eat humble pie.
we have to chew our cud and spit it back out and i am a
fool, a ruminant lying in the pastures waiting
to be taken one thousand seventy-four miles
home:
when you kissed me flowers bloomed from my
navel as if to say—
Yes yes yes yes yes.
blood rising behind my
lips pumping in all its holy majesty
burning metallic against my skin and i thought let me be branded by
you.
you, gift-wrapped in linen and old
spice, sunlight peeking
out through your smile lines
the surprise the perfect
O of your lips as we
made love amid the skyscrapers of cardboard
boxes as we
leapt across your mattress like buzz
aldrin like
children;
i take your hand and you lead me out the
window for a cigarette and a
better view of the moon
both are made of
paper
IV. offertorium
a.
a thousand
miles of orchard—
fruit laced with one point
oh seven four kg of powdered
kisses i havent yet given you
if you crave their nectarblood dont
blame me if you must
drink up the sea to quench
your thirst
b.
I will sink into you like
a warm bath I will
lie back and eat mangoes and
let the juice drip
down my chin from my
fingers into you
V. sanctus
a.
i come in the name of
the woman inside whose body you were
sewn;
inside my body your seams
will be ripped.
b.
i come in the name of
the woman inside whose body you were
sown;
inside my body your harvest
will be reaped.
VI. agnus dei
the bridegroom lies
in tatters at the
altar,
reaching out to the
bloodied lamb beside him.
we cover him in
wool and
pull it over his eyes,
kissing his hand as we lower
him into the ground,
hoping to be blessed by his
blood. some of us get
drunk instead.
VII. communio
i dont know but Ive been told
that good bread and wine is
the best meal but
no bread breaks better than
your flesh no liquor goes down smoother than
your blood no
light shines brighter than your eyes
(blue moons in a scleral
sky) and when they spark like flint
and ignite my soul will you
remember to scatter my ashes into
whatever poison you drink
you join the procession of the
weeping daughters of jerusalem
but you
arent sure what theyre
weeping about.
perhaps they weep because they saw you
shipwrecked on the shores of
my body—
the fishermen howl, their painstakingly
hewn vessel
lost to the south wind.
or perhaps because you
charted my topography climbed up
my ******* and never came back
perhaps someone has died,
possibly you.
at your own funeral, you shed no tears.
II. kyrie eleison
at 8:56 am on judgment day
the cicadas start to
scrape against my skull
roaring like the lionesses that
rip open your chest in the tall grass they
lick your blood from their fur, pick
your bones from between their teeth and
recede, sated, into the
shade
the hyenas arrive at sun-
set and leave only
the weeds to glut
themselves
on your carcass.
III. sequentia
its all just flashes of course: the whys and wherewereyous and the
wildness in your eyes that said if someone snapped your neck i mean wrung it like a spring hen
you would still
be staring into some vision only you could
see.
sometimes it is not enough to eat humble pie.
we have to chew our cud and spit it back out and i am a
fool, a ruminant lying in the pastures waiting
to be taken one thousand seventy-four miles
home:
when you kissed me flowers bloomed from my
navel as if to say—
Yes yes yes yes yes.
blood rising behind my
lips pumping in all its holy majesty
burning metallic against my skin and i thought let me be branded by
you.
you, gift-wrapped in linen and old
spice, sunlight peeking
out through your smile lines
the surprise the perfect
O of your lips as we
made love amid the skyscrapers of cardboard
boxes as we
leapt across your mattress like buzz
aldrin like
children;
i take your hand and you lead me out the
window for a cigarette and a
better view of the moon
both are made of
paper
IV. offertorium
a.
a thousand
miles of orchard—
fruit laced with one point
oh seven four kg of powdered
kisses i havent yet given you
if you crave their nectarblood dont
blame me if you must
drink up the sea to quench
your thirst
b.
I will sink into you like
a warm bath I will
lie back and eat mangoes and
let the juice drip
down my chin from my
fingers into you
V. sanctus
a.
i come in the name of
the woman inside whose body you were
sewn;
inside my body your seams
will be ripped.
b.
i come in the name of
the woman inside whose body you were
sown;
inside my body your harvest
will be reaped.
VI. agnus dei
the bridegroom lies
in tatters at the
altar,
reaching out to the
bloodied lamb beside him.
we cover him in
wool and
pull it over his eyes,
kissing his hand as we lower
him into the ground,
hoping to be blessed by his
blood. some of us get
drunk instead.
VII. communio
i dont know but Ive been told
that good bread and wine is
the best meal but
no bread breaks better than
your flesh no liquor goes down smoother than
your blood no
light shines brighter than your eyes
(blue moons in a scleral
sky) and when they spark like flint
and ignite my soul will you
remember to scatter my ashes into
whatever poison you drink
