Pandemonium on Rye
Father in heaven
king of kings
I love the power of words
the way they smell
like sweat and morning breath
in the sweltering heat
the way they taste
like luminous crystals
exploding in the witching hour
the way they feel
like birth or death
the way they want to feel
like for one moment
in your wondering existence
you have a grasp of what it is
to be an absolute being
poetry and prose
the true meaning of the soul
a soul dog
a lousy idol
a monstrosity
unleashing words for all humanity
with no understanding as to why
the way they sound
like coupes racing in the stinging rain
or leaves
having a rotisserie of laughter in the wind
dinner
dessert
cognac among the fiasco
a true bloodshed from the pulpit.
(from Lassoed With A Decorative Tongue, 2007)
