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Deeper Wounds

For Barbara and Susanne


There was a child…and then a season later…another who died at a very early age…victims of child abuse.

Even my love for you was not enough to save them. And because of this… the rainbow never again held a promise …the sunset lost all it’s beauty and the magic of the full moon…was destroyed.

You must understand for me there is no consolation …no penance with enough pain …no atheism with enough emptiness …no cathedral with a God strong enough to burn from my heart the memory of their innocence.


I confess…I am the son of Joan of Arc

And for proof…you who have only faith are lost while I have as a legacy the honor to wear her armor and to be heir to her courage to hear a choir of angels singing…the end of hope.

But because I am her child I have seen in the maiden’s eyes the end of despair born by the tears and incense …of burning flesh.

So in the emptiness of this arena we share let it now be revealed to you…why I have the privilege…to carry a shield of voices…sighing in the summer breeze. It is because I have for a weapon…a woman’s sacred longing to see her tempered sword…sheathed on the field of battle in the enemies war…against the olive branch.

And that is the reason…I can not be bribed by the argument of forgiveness in the hallucinations of your court that strives to inflict upon reality a voice in time…for tyranny.

So do not tell me about the sins of humility it is pride that keeps me from being tempted …with the politics of salvation and the dreams of the heretics Church still drunk on sacrificial wine…and blessing the starving child with damnation…for the theft of bread consecrated to feed the poor.

For these and all my other crimes I have chosen the rainbow…to blame …for allowing me to remember the deluge and the thunder that is only an echo of the screams of the excommunicated mother who has beckoned me to warn you:

It is her favorite son who is incurably ill with an insatiable desire for revenge…for each day an army of physicians…deepens the wound left by the surgeon’s scalpel.

This is not an omen…this isn’t even a vow it is only a prayer that was answered…in the beginning when I was embraced…by a woman clothed in flames. And she knows the truth of this punishment. There is nothing wrong with her children. They are alive and well in a world

…that is raving mad!


Lake Shore Drive

This suicide note began before…or was it after I remember playing there beneath your neck above your navel underneath your leaves amidst the sound of the bay.

Where we lived…in a bed…of paranoia and poverty and money…from stolen music and enjoying sacraments…from any priest…who happened along the way. The nights lasted forever then…and sometimes the work in the fields and the factories lasted…even longer.

This suicide note began after…or was it before I remember playing there beneath your navel above your thighs underneath your leaves only to raise my head from the scent of your sea to answer the request from the next room for sugar…for coffee…for tea or another stolen bottle…of expensive wine.

It was easy pretending then…until our final words as long as we forgot every morning we had stopped talking…the night before. After all…perhaps it does not matter…whether we lied to one another because I know…even the courageous…have their moment of terror …in the face of truth. For even I found phone calls are sharper than the voices leading to razor blades which is the only proof…I need to know…the scars of your absence still haunts me.

That is the reason I lied so you would believe…this obscene truth: the surest way…to the only heaven with you I knew was through the pavement of hell fashioned by the hate of the prisons I came from. But by now…my softness would love companionship even in the arms of a lessor woman who does not care…about such profanities.

Perhaps I am only clinging…to not having enough cruelty left to buy more innocence…with the bones…of more children …who would be buried here. Because now it is already time for the vigil to the end of our story together. I was there one night…agony and passion came…and died in your arms. So forgive me…this is the only wedding gift and blessing I have left for you both:

Of all the beautiful and ugly angels I have known and loved and hated you were every God I ever dreamed of…and more.


is this punk.

if you have no scars, no perforated cheeks, if you are not broken you are [part of] the problem. it’s true. anyone who sees the world as it is cannot be asked to be an optimist besides this is not a contest among voyeurs. no…this is frightening.


The Dirty Book Store’s Place In Eden’s Revenge

I confess to you…and to setting lust free …and to standing as I did at Mid-Night Mass …half lost …half there …and all alone in the darkness of this confessional.

It is obvious I am cumming …to witness the holy Acts …transform the human bodies …involved in…the passion play. Therefore trust me when I tell you during the sacrifice …their positions …have changed.

I am not lying. I have stopped kneeling…as a child because I took my time standing…as a man who stumbled and fell.

Still it is comforting to know: I am not among the holy host of spectators a priest’s absolution could save…from understanding…this mystery.

So let’s not pretend…the agony of lost innocence. I am not looking for fig leaves…not here. I am looking for childhood’s place…in the agony of guilt. And what the shepherd girl has to do with the animals …and the Lamb …and the others…in the manger…which maybe why I have no secrets to keep from the world…nor any that are kept from me.

And that is why…after all this time…the scar of vengeance…may still be mine. Because I have come that far to know that look betrays the flesh of your faithful wife.

Only you will understand I will never tell and you will never know…the Fires of Eden I found beneath her leaves.


For Karen

Even as Amy Mann and Radio Head battle to be plagiarized in the warmth of the cold garage a war rages on…somewhere…in my manic schemes…and dreams of the heat of your distant arms…still falling…victim to my admittedly dieing ego’s…charms.

Desperately! Desperately! Desperately! You are almost all I think of…saving…if that is what you want from being among the ranks of the freaks who were ever embraced…by him.

Because…once upon a time…a long long time ago I told you a story to who ever you were then on another forgotten…drunken nite my greatest crime…is knowing like Samson knew…when his G-d led him by means of the sewers of blindness…to bring down the Temple walls my greatest sin…is not hating…enough to trust anyone…with my darkest and most unimportant secret. So…sew…sew…sew away…back on the farm, lover?

Desperately! Desperately! Desperately! It is almost all I could think of…loosing…my heart if that is what you never wanted as long as it will keep you forever…from being among the ranks…of the freaks who suspected they could ever fall in love…with a leper.

Come on and let me save you…if that is all you want and as long as it will help keep my spells…forever…from parting your thighs like Moses once did with his magic…to the Sea. Because you are all I think of…saving if it will…keep you forever in my heart…and me from touching again just another professional…in the business relationship of being for me alone…just another woman…who is… an untouchable,

After all it is a cheaper and crueler and lonelier payback of revenge than letting a man you will never know…wound you with tears for all that he owes thee…for what my durty diseased mind

Desperately! Desperately! Desperately! wanted to do to your perfect body for nothing…but thanks…for cigarettes…and the beers.

Now it’s your turn to save my soul…from you Desperately! Desperately! Desperately! wanting to do anything as payment…to learn…how to fall in love…with me. _______________________

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