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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
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.

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
the flesh
of your faithful wife.

Only you will understand
I will never tell
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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