What a rush
Up into the passageway of American fame
I can’t think of any other means to get by
Neither can my Elizabeth

Everyone knows I’m her friend
Everyone knows I’m her man

Bring your sister
Wives
Daughters
If you think you can handle it
Tommy likes the way she holds him
Makes you crawl—dollar bill beggar

And is it true
That the devil ends up like this?
Make something safe for the picture frame
A kick of diamond septum
Fizzy bullet in the brain

She’s your *******
Got your Stepford’s skating the edge
Of something sweeter than domesticity
Cities gotta give
Let in a little bite
Hot
Wind

Cut it again.

Abigail’s a pretty one
Even with dead rye on the brain
Scurrying under couches
The foot is dead

February’s heavy and ours victory a *****
As much mine as she is yours
Squeeze into my dress
Pale sky and grey skin is hard to scrub out
Squeeze into my dress
And become a human being
There’s too much of you
Of me

Betty’s a kind soul
And I hear she still grants forgiveness
Telling me
“I guess I’m an underwater thing so I guess I can’t take it personally.”  
Get it out the system
Rocks in your legs
Line me up in single file
With all your grievances
Sinking in a gentle pool of wine and water
I don’t know which one Jesus really wanted to change

I taste her in the water
She’s going off with confusion
Not
Persephone

“So I must be flowing.”
Out for God
Out for them

I pray the lord
My soul to keep
It
Just between us

It’s a consequence of sorts in this place
Something coming along in frame of mind
In Her eyes, ego shouldn’t have a face
And all of us are the ones to blame

Hijack Mrs. Jesus for a small trip
13 hours to Mexico-what a waste
To think no follower would miss
The chance to see her in her proper place

heart—cease and desist this racket
a jumping of one
                                                             two
you know where we are going

my flower
is a proud blooming
on the face—dress up and play the part for bright shiny cameras in a dark blue
                                                                                                 stallion
Dealy Plaza is thinspacelusicouspinkburntfilmsunkissedwithmotorcycleoil
                        the dress is wet
he’s such a cute boy when not so
          defunct
in her eyes
laden and lead down behind a socket—ripe
flesh is
                                                          weak

I am often jealous of Michelangelo.
To be called on to create something as an homage to God and His heavenly hosts is enough, but I cannot imagine trails of taking something other than yourself and bleeding it out onto canvas in a burst of light and color and devotion.
And for a brief, terrifying moment, it is just sound and God, reaching out to create another Adam within him.

mothers are interesting to think about.
here is a person that God
or the universe or whatever profound and unimaginable thing that our feeble human minds cannot comprehend
took and made into your growing space
her body now a thing to inhabit you-forming into something better
than she could ever hope for-
and giving you everything in the selfish way that love requires in every relationship
her breath
her blood
her being
separated and shared
until time and nature decides to spill you out into the world for all to see.
No wonder you cried when you were born

“Sorry, not sorry,” says the nature of change
Brought through with cameras and champagne on the brain
Sometimes I wonder how you handle it
New York is a drowning city
What a pity -- strangers
Lose themselves in the noise a bit
But know your clothes, your face
The smell of Chanel
And cold bedsheets

Keeps the mind’s peace and pieces  
Flittering on fame’s release
Hollywood’s a real scream
Isn’t it? Winding and navigating the museum of dolls
Please! Give a little more

In the room with the TV blinkers
Smile
And then you’ll mean something to me

Blue haze of taffeta and ballyhoo
Cold haze of taffeta and ballyhoo
***** burns the throat and is a heavy glory
Holds itself on your brain and the mirror’s a real thing
To illuminate inside and out and who
You are nothing short of a barbiturate queen
Take a breath

In the room with the TV blinkers
Smile
And then you’ll mean something to me