Monday, December 6, 2010

Blue Devil

Purple dream – blue devil – brother father killer lover –
shoots up from the center of the primal groin: exhumes
himself to join you – salacious fumes – smells like sweat –

manifests a steaming wet hegemony – the magma of a mute
iconic masculinity: he reaches out in lavish tenderness
to you as if you were his son, or were the one whom

he once had, or once had been, too gloriously capable
of some sweet glowing sin he cannot know again. He is
the gape after a blast – echo of a thunder – a vast capacity

for blunder and for sorrow and for rape, for murder and for
that sweet soft landscape of soul in which, although he’s
shattered everything, left nothing whole – at last, for once,

has fathered something necessary. He is the lunk, the dunce,
the brutal pump and pulse and emissary of the shocking
gentleness of unacceptable desires. He is what sires.

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