BY JOHN EDWARD LAWSON
AND THE SICKNESS ISSUES FORTH
an elaborate garden incubates truth
I cook iron moons and yet after
coolly parting your purple dress--
like clubbing a life, an only need--sleep
is produced like a near trip...they have
mostly let all sagging go as none
so we embrace delirious summer need
a raw repulsive shadow goddess
this luscious finger in blue;
dreamlike chant fluff cavorts with
music must tell of rose rust
and how one said "use sweet
mad woman-girls as beds"
or perhaps sulking rotisserie grills
of dry-skinned condemnation flaking one sin
at a time for all eternity
AN ELLIPTICAL LOVE
the...out loud wicked...you
drunken-loved me...and the throbbing
of your heart...added...a
deafening sort...your ears were not
big enough...to catch the sound
of...wicked loud outings...or
the illuminating darkness...
about...I don't know how
you could drink...could you
spare some ridiculously used
thrombosis...everybody knows it:
I loved you the roundabout way
...borrowing ten dollars today...
to stretch your heart with the
DELICATE REPULSIVE SUMMER
You really shouldn't say such
things if you value the sanctity
of your colon. Wiping your
elaborate iron drool: he always
wants you tiny, like a thousand
cooked, raw breasts. Still under
two. So needy.
You recall her enormous language;
it lathers your vision like those
gorgeous gardens she tends.
Uncle out back at the distillery,
remember? Girlshine worship
shaking the black chain apparatus
of your shadow symphony.
I only wanted to touch the light
in your eyes, but didn't know
that it would burn. How shameful
of you to withhold that
from me. I gave all I possessed
a rancid thrashing for your benefit
...even my pets were drawn
and quartered, then eighthed
while every precious memory was razed
beyond recognition under your tempest.
How could you simply let me
go down that sepia road?
All this time it seemed you were composed
of sapphire and lace, your breath jasmine;
a look inside revealed a pus-filled
sack of unfinished leather,
a sarcophagus-robber's sentiment
flaccid on your crumbling tongue.