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Alexander
In Olympia's
womb
barely breathing
I could swim
like air
trailing its shadow
in deep,
where
Aristander seals
my face
with leonine perfection
(no seal is put upon what is empty).
Later
the cypress scented sweat
of Orpheus.
Bad Intentions
(Ravaged by my bad intentions to Labradors).
Lip tinted
Apostate.
Knowing you posed those last photographs for him,
deceiving your planes
into Rembrandt's molded curves.
Fingertip memento
mislaid;
tedious as piano notes
embedded in a sweltering afternoon.
The Gate of Horn
I had a fever last night;
His left paw induced sleep.
Horses left their pastures to feed on snakes
I flew
just a question of
elevation.
Dead in a Room with Clouds
Sloan did fills.
If the Lazarists hadn't gathered one more time
he would have been paper thin and blue.
Their dissent fashions loose
murmuring,
exempting the basement from silence.
Above cowed heads
Simple Simon
Interfering with neighborhood antennas.
If Sloan hadn't done fills,
I would never have killed myself
in an oily bath.
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