But what if I tried a wasp's
eating frosting
off my swoll bottom lip
and my sex
won't let me down from the lemon tree.
What if I tried a mashed-up fist
of $2,000
bride's pye
wedding cake's in my windbreaker.
What if I tried mashing it into my face when I gave away my daughter.
What if I tried the father
daughter dance
& the voice of a cowboy singing I'm cleaning this gun.
But nothing laughs.
What if I tried dementia's the drum
which makes me
the orchestra pit
& it'll beat my nemesis
so long as I scrape on a tux & disgrace my music in front of her.
But nothing works.
I shall call these my Nothing Works.
In this year of our.
Anno domini.
I'm a man who won't climb down
pathetic you hear me lord
from his lemon tree
& smashing cake into his maw sans idolatry.
Because aroused.
Aroused is the failed word.
Not for all the tea leaves I would eat from the lord's teeth
does it begin to unearth the mortar
nor the fortress of my sanity.
All of which
I want demolition'd.
Like when I work my sanity into the loose
summer labia
of this flower boy
without
his chrysanthemum
what I hear's death pronouncing my name when his petals say thank you.
Or I'm demolitioning god
that I was not named Gabriel.
In falsetto in
c minor in
death's brogue
in escrow
I'm death who karaokes the national anthem.
