PAPERCLIP

By stealth,

the train in my living room

is melting.

My brother is being killed

for saving my life.

 

It was so humid that day

we visited the fighter wing

watching the jets.

I was on life support

wheezing,

God Bless America,

remembering our grandfather in

Alamogordo testing bombs for the

Air Force in the 50’s.

 

The constellation of Gemini

could be seen from the levee.

 

Now, they exterminate

our people,

veritas,

our origins

as tornado sirens and

extra-low frequencies still blare

from the factory.

 

The bones of

the liberators

are now visible.

 

 

 

 

FROM BOTH ENDS

A mercenary

tracks her murder

to a controlled burn

tourniquet

strangling

men with AR’s

guarding

a pathological sense

of entitlement.

 

She has taken on the characteristics

of the war.

 

She hunts a corrupt, criminal

underground,

an invisible

crime scene.

 

She wears the

collateral black

violence

too few have endured.

 

She ranges a more

encrypted description

of the suspects.

 

A dying man

reads psalms

from the old country.

 

Another is waiting.

F5

A radiating sun resurrected

from dissipating planets,

implicated guns in the water,

wiping cum off my tits,

at the ready,

the most beautiful women

you’ve ever seen;

my soul belongs

to the broken ones.

 

Power is an illusion,

power is a blacklight rose,

and is temporary.

 

All the ways I have

pictured you dying,

waiting like the elevator man,

holding the gardens of your life like

old, old compositions.

 

Over the bridge,

you almost convinced me that

no decent woman

thinks these kinds of thoughts.

RECEIVE

 

You see

an illuminated hourglass.

 

I see

you

held down and red,

a rape reversed,

Riders on the Storm

playing in the background

as I tighten my

black leather strap-on-

all I need is love, bitch.

 

Feel

the slave you never split

rip the wings off your

Day of the Dead

monarchy

like a tangled knot,

making you beg to choke,

heads or tails,

on my rubber barrel.

 

Tell me you want this,

beg for

the

blood

running down your legs,

my ritualistic hands

around your neck,

Esperanto,

this one last

burnt offering for

Synagoga,