Hole Of Light

A widening flame on a cardboard sky.
Dried fruit shrinks in place of the heart.

Caught in the tiles and fencing of sorrow,
hooked by the lip, dragged to the world,

to female bodies, dust of the night,
wordless promises whispered in neon,

submerging into dumb, garbled dreams,
punished by dawn, discipline, death,

stuffing the beans of hate in my mouth,
gates of God, gates of confusion.

Having defiled the Holy Spirit, left with a lifetime
of focal neuropathy, throwing our diapers

into a pit where they’re melted and cast to a mask
of the pope, a worm becoming a constellation,

which then goes back to being a dick.
Stargazers sip on methylene chloride. Earth

sips on need, spits out fertility
outside of dreams, pours salty blood

in this vessel of life. Wind blows in
open laundromat doors in autumn, in spring

in the land of peach blossoms, weeping
recited smoothly as verses, Indian summer,

bum-killing winter, lost in the alleys
and courtyards of Babylon.