the prophet wandered dizzily out
of the desert visions still raging in his head;
all pink & blue & gold &
full of white eyes like Mary had shown
him what was beneath her tunic &
it had blown his mind w/ visions that
wouldn't stop as he saw the future pages
of ******* & SI swimsuit issues fly by like
hungry vampire bats; his cave
full of them & cold snakes like demonesses
dancing in the shadows of the
heated earth where he descended
in an elevator & arose on an escalator
from the future stocking state where all men
fear their own junk b/c it bites the grandmothers
pleasantly on the ***; life-size Ruby Keeler
posters hung on the basement walls;
she a reformed cannibal; ******,
the church was smooth & cleansing
I ached for her shape; disheartened
I walked through the
desert under thunder; no rain until
everything turned to liquid; seeing
the visions start to repeat he screamed
& gripped his head; she was there waiting
like always w/ cell phone in hand; O
mother christen me w/ the windowless
pools of ur stocking feet; gristle for the dogs
of spasmodic gold believers desiring
chewed grapes as cud & sparrow soup;
now wasted after dining on peyote
and mescal & smoking the brown dirt
off the bottoms of his feet; he looks at
her cherry eyes & can see her
mother in them approaching from
the distance crossing on the equator
waiting for him to return home
if not his ethereal brotherly ghost
of hope in a hoop skirt; chill, she said:
& he & he met her at
the well; it was another sun blasted
day like always 'please, ma'am,' said he,
'I would like a cup of water'; she said
there's a Starbucks down the road;
thinking perhaps he'd like a nice cold
spiced caffè macchiato