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Patmos V. 2


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Chrysanthemums on fire, burn burn.

Haze to the sun and she said this mediation

Would not be like the others.

This meditation we practiced in the garden,

Before our own actual births.


  I saw the lion’s eyes, before the pride.


But good grace, my king, what happened after?

Before the war? Before public executions?

Yes, I too agree the traitors should get the sword,

But what was it like before?


  I remember how she fumbled with the keys,

  Trying to recall Clair de Lune from her lessons.

  I watched her back, convincing, stunning, powerful,

  Tense as nostalgia forced the right notes through her fingers,

  It was a struggle that she hid well; I closed my eyes

  And kissed her shoulder. – I kissed her shoulder.


  Did you know that sometimes, I still sleep-

  With the lights on? And I try that meditation,

  The one we practiced in the garden.


Before the confrontation, there was Entertainment™.

Elephants did tricks, and we could snap and have

The Serum™ dripped in. Two snaps for euphoria-ultra®

Three for childhood—wind-in-hair-joy®

And nine snaps for a cheery-daydream® (an exact recreation

Of the snappers first sexual foray, displaying interloping

Images of the first partner with heightened features, of course.


It’s better this way, windows open, and doors barred.

No robber will every steal my majesty, my god.


  On the street, a man with no shoes sang, of it.

  The war to come, A nickel and a few pennies

  In my pocket and a dead pigeon in the gutter.


Fear is watching the subway get up and run away

Physically grow hairy legs and run with people

Screaming in its belly. I begged it to stay and it

Just kept running, the subway, that is, baton in hand.


  I remember practicing handoffs in Ohio.

  I ran the 4 x 400. Wasn’t any good.

  Legs were too shaky, but I did anchor once.

  Sure as hell I didn’t drop that baton.

Places where it never rains, dust, and smoke.

The shock when the first droplet fell on their tongue.

Must’ve been something, right?

Here the dew gathers greedily, how the smell

of Green Thumb™ pesticides mix well with morning

BRIGHT! + EARLY™ coffee! The gods have blessed us.


How small, frail he was just a boy before the war,

But after? How he could move, could kill those bastards.


   Did you ever really think of it? Like really?

  Three kiddos, sunlit reading rooms, rocking to sleep?


born handless, but over time they grew in just like,

the doctor said they would.


   I remember being tired after McDonalds™.

  Disillusioned at best, pitiful at worst. But you, you, you

  Knew how to take care of me, even if it was just a

  Brief handhold before bed, a “keep your head up sweet boy.”

  My god, oh my God, thank you for those moments.


Leave everything behind, the bread, the office chair, your

Memorabilia from that obsession you hold dear.

Look at the sun until it blisters, do you remember,

the smoke from the chrysanthemums?


  I wrote plenty when scared; I dealt with them comfortably.

  The real melancholy is better kept in the endnotes,

  The crossed out words of love letters, xoxo, evermore.

  How tedious punctuation becomes at the end, should I have

  Used an exclamation, a question mark? Maybe a dash- like that-


A clever disguise, I love the bolder, and you the sun,

Sisyphus and Icarus has a ring to it, doesn’t it?

Nausea and those texts read one by one until,

You learned all that you could hold, remembering only,

The ABC's when it comes down to it, I remember the

Foundations that built it all, the water, and a light

That jumped from the wave tips to the sun.


  I wrote poetry when I got scared. God send me,

  Another savior to kill, but this time give him a sword,

  I want a Goddamn challenge this time, my God.

  I want to feel like a lion again like I AM all still.


Have you seen the ocean on a new moon?

All bleak and obscure, a liquid hollowness that,

Moves about slowly and closer to shore

for no apartment reason.


  She hated the feeling of fish swimming inside her.

  And I haven’t had a drink in at least 3 hours.

  Oh, how I feel in control,

  How I hate every second of it

  Like a rat gnawing on a dove.

  Being sober, never felt so sickening.

  I dry-heave on words instead of liquor,

  And If you could see me now,

  it is much much worse, an ordeal.


My God, let it rain upon me. I’ll trust for you.

Look! I made you an idol, seven plastic Brunettes’ bottles,

On the floor. Shaped like a man, my creation,

Look! I am becoming more as you promised.


  And I don’t know how this story goes, or

  How I am supposed to fit into it. But here

  Goes nothing, notice me I shouted last night.


Touch my skin like you used to, used to used to.

Softly, like you were touching something that

shouldn’t be touched, touch me

like you are afraid to be caught.

And I’d like to see a sunset again before I die.


  It’s precisely 2:00 AM here and 7: AM there?

 Are you awake yet, darling?


And after the battle, boys emerged with dusty faces.

Out from the trenches, some sneezed,

while the others blessed them hastily.


  Black lake, lapping shore, tedious chores,

  I swam out a mile to an island one summer

  Then I saw a water moccasin and returned.

  I never knew what hidden divinity the island

  Held, I got scared, so darling, I returned.


What is the midst of this concern? The Clytemnestra

of the world, you, and Aegisthus making love like,

we used to do when I wasn’t so very much alone.


  Might I ask if I ever made you whole?

  Could I have been more than the sum of our parts?


Then a crowned huntsman released his ravens

490 black beast descended over the earth each

large enough to cast a shadow halfway across the sea.

For 40 days we begged forgiveness. Tore our rags and

Dumped ash into our mouths in hopes we might live.

The lucky few made it out with one eye still intact.


  I was a woman once, a man too,

  I have cut my hair

  and never loved again.

  I changed my name to Boston and killed

  the killer of our savior.


Oh God let it hail salt on the vineyards.

If you want the drought to hurt take what we love.

Smite us fools, give us your best, my God.


  Will you, my queen, look at me with pride again?

  Like you did when I gave my last fiver away?

  How you looked at me when

  I apologized, frightened and pathetic.


She was a western wind, a particular kind.

And I will always remember how my curly hair

parted when the windows were rolled down


Can’t the grass talk back? Sing words of hope and celebration?

The end is near; I can feel it, my ending.

Πάντων δὲ τὸ τέλος ἤγγικεν· σωφρονήσατε οὖν καὶ νήψατε εἰς τὰς προσευχάς·


  Sing words, of hope, and of spirit.

  Wouldn’t you like that mother?

  For it to all have a purpose, a proper ending?


Silly, silly, it was over before it began,

But you said not to suffer like those without hope?

How could I have known?

Lying down, groggy leaves falling.



On a mountain, there are two evergreens.

In storms, they’d sway together, apart.


When the water finally drained from the ocean,

The bones reassembled themselves into a great city.

By then I had stopped caring, partly

because I was partial to the waves.


  Tonight I burned my most valuable possessions.

  An Indian Rupee, A postcard, and my hands.


I heard the trumpets usher in the endings, the happy saints,

The bowls of wrath, separation of bride and bridegroom,

The gnashing of baby teeth, and the woes from the garden.


  As the earth shook apart, and everything trembled,

  I buried my head in the pillow.

  Enough is enough is enough,

  Notice me, the king whimpers,

  I am made brand new.

  Rewashed in sulfur.


Goodnight, everything beautiful,


Into the small hours, going.

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