---

Prelude

 

This is the language of my Angel, the One who came to save me.

 

(The Angel Speaks.)

I reach through a cut in the air
and pull him into the space
where I live in a puddle
of this Universe.

We are face-to-face
his skin is sweaty
and his head outlined
by a light in the back

we talk.
He believes that
there's no way out
and though I'm
convinced that there is
I can't tell him why.
So I draw pictures on this
face with my fingers
open and close his swollen
eyes and whisper into his ear
a melody someone taught me
when I was child

His breath becomes heavier.
I am afraid. I lick the top
of his nose and over the
expanse of his lips, dry.

He struggles to get away.
I move closer and try to hold him
but I can't. He shakes and backs away
and slips back through the cut in the air.

He leaves. I watch him go.

 

The Mercy Fuck Suite

 

I: Into the Beyondhere

 

You wanted to see my face, and it made me
mad that after 19 years of phantom dick
filling my thoughts, my body
it didn't matter to me
that the dick attached to the man
attached to the world
riding hip
high on fear
couldn't afford to want me in the light
So, let me back up
I could understand it
this burning set upon you
a burnished image
of me rising like Christ, ceramic
arms extended clearly
more accessible and
I came back, in fact
I never went away
I never went away
I never
went away
because I am the dust
rising, the wailing child
the broken jaw of a woman
I am the nightmare of the slave
I wear the brand of "community"
on my ass
I am offered no respect
so I am forced to take it
I force contentment
into escape, clinging
patiently to thin calm
a path to disrupt
and corrupt
all the men who speak in babytalk
those who could never really
pronounce their names
loud enough
enough so that anyone
would care. All tongues
have been severed
in the wake
of the Cross
34 years ago it mattered
this drama you lay
before me, some
discontented malnourished
soul begging for relief but
how could I, or anyone
satisfy four centuries
of damngoddamn god damned?
Oh, you crawling over on
your belly to suck me
don't impress me
anymore
so any surgery
any tongue suppressant
will press from the space
between you
and the dirt
that couldn't stay buried
not with that rifle
snuggling softly just
inside your rectum
the one that went off, making way
where there wasn't ripping up
beyondhere or there
places that scream
blackchildalive
in the twist of smoke
of the tobacco field
set afire by the light

 

II: Circle

 

Nobody knows me here cuz
if they did they would come
and get me
I retreat here to remember
myself, that golden part, soft
and fluid, defying the billboards
bearing carbon
copies of me
lonely spirits roaming
the promenade, combing the flesh
The only way to fuck up a demon
is to look in the face of history
and spit
smoke, recognize the mud

And it was said that parting your legs
was a sin but when I put my face
unto the hood
my eyebrows burnt crisp
flames licked at my lips
emanating from your legs
turning me out glad I came
I came
And it was said that in parting my legs
you would deliver, bring froth
gelling on my leg
and your mouth
my face tastes you
tastes me
while they, alarmed and swollen
with the virtue of deadmen
crash against the door
to seize the love
originating at your legs

 

III. The Confession

 

I numb myself
distractions soft and
brown because I almost
left my body
for good
last night. Face of God
becameeverythingintheroomand
I knew my time was running out.
My dick, sore from the beating
I gave it, day after day,
hour after hour, fearing
my reflection
running and running and running
Everything electric dead but you
by-passing on the left--here comes light--interjections
of calm have found their wayintomywakinglife.
The breath
before the cry,
has expanded and I
no longer feel the terror
Seventy-thousand lighted candles
saved me from killing myself
and you.
My hands no longer feel it
necessary...he squeezes his eyes
shut, no light penetrates....no
longer a goal -- right now.
In shedding this skin, I am
aware of my lips, my footsteps, my
reason here
here and here.
Shoes, shirts and service.
Impressing you is pointless,
a long throbbing pain
dripping on the outside of the
glass turning puddles to pools.
Being a fag ain't so bad after all
after all, after all, after
all this scrambling
to uphold effigies as people
doctrines as life
and peace as unattainable.