HAUNTED BY LONG SORROWS
Haunted by long sorrows like a ghost
in a lighthouse on the moon with no one to warn
stay away, stay away from me,
I’m a radioactive dump site, the slag of stars.
A snakepit of downed powerlines
dancing without a snake charmer
to the backbeat of dark energies
that sweat me like a dragon in heat.
The moon is the urn of the ashes
of a nuclear reactor. My sister muse,
and, little sun, that shines at midnight,
look kindly upon my total eclipse.
I am not your deathmask, but I burn,
I burn like white phosphorus in the starcluster
of the Pleiades. Infernal incense
screening the smell of a scorched heart
that’s always in camouflage when it prays
in the shrine of a furnace to a fire-god
to put out the flames, put out the flames,
the drapes of the poppies are burning
like Molotov cocktails. Am I still as safe
as I was thirty years ago in a house
that’s burned to the ground? Or is this
another terrorist attack on my embassy?
The eyes in my crystal skull that change
dimensions like the lenses in a telescope,
are thawing like glaciers of the last ice-age
and the windows are crying earth-shaped
pears of glass in a flashflood of global warming.
Someone lend me a fire axe and I’ll chop
the head of the moon off like a hole in the floor
we can all fall through like followers of Lucifer.
Venus takes a swan dive in the morning
on the day of enlightenment. Sometimes
taking a fall for the sake of the other guy
is the only way you have of standing your ground.
Drive me out into the wilderness to cleanse your sins.
Pelt me with doomsday asteroids. Ever wonder
what the scapegoats are preaching in the desert
to the vipers and the scorpions that glisten
like the bling of hot jewellery lost in the hot sands
of the sun? Tar me in asphalt and feather me
like a pillowcase that has nightmares about flying.
And I’ll return with the pearl of a black dwarf
between my teeth like an implosion of light
deepened into a dark master of esoteric gravity.
And I’ll pull you down like a moonbeam by the ankle
into the dark mirror of the lake like a snapping turtle
anchors a swan in the starmud on the bottom.
I’ll show you the life that thrives out of reach
of the light. We’ll make a pilgrimage of the smoking fumaroles
of your subconscious, and I’ll show you
the whole zoo of surrealistically sentient life forms
mythically inflated like the giant squids and krakens,
sea cucumbers ten times their surface size
living on the hydrogen sulphide of your magmatic desires
like the R-complex of rotten cosmic eggs
that leave an evil aftertaste in the mouths
of the snakes, dragons, and crocodiles
that spit out their yolks like gamma ray bursts
of bad sunshine sublimating the dry ice of your eyes
into the tears of a ghost at its own exorcism.
Like a massive planet in an outer orbit
on the horns of a dilemma, I’ll purge
the black halo of comets you wear like a corona
in an eclipse, and clear your solar system
of that laurel of thorns wrapped around your head
like a galactic turban of razor wire
uncoiling like the spiralled wavelength
of the God particle of a snake in the mystic fire
of another martyred heresy that set you free
at the stand up pulpit and pyre of my own auto de fe
to aspire abysmally higher than the death of desire.