In the Mouth of the Sea
After Federico Garcia Lorca
The fishes glisten,
fishermen listen,
for the blood
and the song
of the sea and
sun’s reflection
on the waves.
The startling verses,
the siren’s curses,
take hold of
fishermen,
who intently
listen, who fall
in the spell.
Hook, line, sinker,
they fall deeper,
in the mouth
of the sea,
fishermen, blind
like love, who
can blame them?
So Alive
After Bauhaus’ song Dive
So alive
like moths going into the light
Kamikaze love
like moths making the last dive
Insects swoon
going full speed into the light
In the subterranean world
Molotov cocktails are the weapon of choice
A train in vain falls off the tracks
A necromantic brings back all the dead
and stitches up the living
Fingers are stripped off their fingerprints
for identity concealment; beware of
dead ringers who assume your life
On Monkey Paw Road you get five wishes
and K-Mart blue specials go on for hours
Dragon claws help us tunnel our way
to the underworld and open the magic door
where we tangle with the sumo wrestler
and dance to Bauhaus and Pussy Galore
with fishnet leatherette toothless zombies
in the dive bar from hell
as we get down, down, down
We go down, down, down
We get down, down, down
Footprints
I was looking at my footprints.
I was looking at my shoes.
The footprints did not seem to match.
They might have belonged to a fish,
or a flamingo, a minotaur,
or a three-legged dog.
I gazed at a cricket jumping in
my footprints. It seemed to
be wearing a tux. My footprints
filled with rain and the tender
cricket fled. A scream from a
nearby bush altered my senses.
A cow with a pair of shoes walked
out of the bush. A cow with a
little girl’s voice walked in
footprints. It was a mad cow.
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