picnic 1975

so he said don’t look up

little darling or your pistachio

eyes will turn to coal

so i said no they won’t

but i did not believe my words

although against logic

i looked up anyway

so can you see stars and lines

or dark dark bubbles on the car

doors my little darling

your eyes are red

no i said so i can keep

looking unbeknown to him

i really wanted to burn

my eyes out to stop the future

from charging me

so listen my petite

devil i cannot let you

look up anymore

so place this hat upon your

head and know that God is always

above you

i know i am beneath

but can i have an orange

oh no no i want a pickle

with pastrami instead

i could not see but i lied

anyway

so you think you’re

hungry? we have food

in the car follow me

but don’t look up and if you’re

good we can roll down the

hill together

on being a native

assenting that

i am

still alive

after being

extracted out

of my

mother’s birth

canal with

pincers and

still incomplete

nothing else

startles me

Rexall

on the table is a word
followed by dozens of
other words lying next
to each other in lines of
instruction, warning and
grief

although the moon has
dropped her pretty face
i pick her up by her wise
chin and beg her to shine
again

the stars in my moon’s
hair dance like beams
in a driven stony river
where the bones of time
soak unto the soil of my
bloods