aayoungif purgatory
is a soup kitchen line
in a catholic church
hell
is serving up grub
on the corner of 8th & vine
southern baptists
pulling up
in their tax exempt jesus wagon
to serve homeless people
hot chili in july
heaven, happens
in Cincinnati
when pigs fly
there is a library in hell
containing every novel
someone
meant to write
h,
hey louisville,
long time no hear from, don juan try hump fat
i’m about to get waynesburg on your stubborn ass
and i want you to know for years
i forgave you for blowing your head off,
hell,
i applauded your ballsy choice
you were nothing if not consistent
you were proof the most intelligent and keen amongst us
are prone to depression, suicide, and addiction,
because we understand how fucked up the world can be
and simply can’t bear the soul sucking siege and insult of it
no one should be made to suffer,
but you should be alive now
we need your voice now
more than ever,
gonzo journalist,
who thought the best was behind you
and it had only just begun
n’ don’t you tell me all the best kentuckians die young and grandly
you’re dead as a damned door nail
you can’t talk back
and aye, that’s the rub, old friend
i’m so mad at you for going away
if you weren’t already dead
i’d shoot you again myself
love you, fucker
a
having twin teenagers with autism
is and will be
the greatest challenge of my life
if i survive this
i can whip anything
see
there are days when it’s hard to tell
who is screaming at you
the autism
or the 18 year old asshole
their teeth come out
bile and vomit spray the walls
over being asked to pick up their dirty socks
it is then i remember there is a tall bridge
perfect for giving up
right down the road from my house
and i think of what would happen
in my horrid wake
the abusive father the only one left
to care for them
the equivalent of throwing them to the wolves
romulus and remus made flesh
death is just another luxury a single mother can’t afford
besides
not loving them enough to stay alive…
that isn’t me
that’s what my father would do
our lady of perpetual sorrow
hear my prayer
as my need is great
it’s thursday night
there’s a bottle of wild turkey
pleading the fifth
on the night stand
lou reed is singing about berlin
from a warehouse in brooklyn
grant me strength
as i have one more night to spend
fighting the good fight
inside the devil’s head
before a flight back to sanity tomorrow
he counts the syllables
of my haiku hoping my math is wrong
he sets his alarm clock for 2 a.m.
to wake up and purposefully misdial my phone
he would deny me water after soaping
he would wage war on my dinner plate
by squashing to death all the baby peas
he fantasizes about my being seated
on the bus seat in front of him
so he could pull my pigtails
he would rip off all the heads of my dolls
he would walk a thousand miles out of his way
just to kick my cat
he wears a hair shirt
and regularly gives himself a good lashing seeking store brand martyrdom
he curses raccoons
for dragging away the dead horse
he so loves beating
all because i do not desire him
he does everything except
leave me the fuck alone
we meet up every few hundred years
at the same special little place
our private table always waiting
black leather booth lined walls
covered in pictures of us
with frank sinatra
caesar romero
and every grinning kennedy
the bartender no longer asks what bourbon to pour into our manhattans
mutually assured destruction
the only dish on the menu
this year i bought new heels just for the occasion
a sumerian demon draws seams down my thighs
so i tell him wear your red suit, baby
it will match perfectly
with the armageddon in your eyes
the skyline of the early evening city
rising behind
soaring diocese minarets
and crucifix adorned steeples
a cathedral flanked by
brick and mortar chess pieces
surrounded by cloudy machinations
god is content this night
to reign only in heaven
for the king is not yet dead
and bishops must be guarded
by mortal men
we glide across marble tiles
fingers laced together
to find our way into the sanctuary
you anoint my head and yourself
after threshold is crossed
asking me to look to the choir loft
the pipe organ sings out not to heaven
instead pleading sympathy for the devil in hell
our laughter causes the sainted statues to turn their heads
swords collide in the painted ceiling
their embers fall
burning our skin
you pull me into
the red velvet confessional
by my waist
i wish to be captured
plunging your hands into my hair
lips pressed to mine in worship
pleading to a heart full of grace
you say,
“my queen, you make me feel so alive…”
i am undone
as beads fall slowly
to the floor
i have taken
to walking at night
through the backfields of my life
drawing ink from the well pond
surrounded by a chamber choir of
minstrel toads
tenor and baritone balanced
the bass has a loose string
my smile shapes into nirvana
as i am
a lover of imperfect things
in this place where i wash away the blood
from gruesome playground injuries
i know myself to be a reality
an unfolding lotus blossum
the drones buzz around me
urging me to assume my place as queen
at the risk of being beheaded
fear be damned
i have nothing to lose but regret
when the world has given all of itself
to nocturnal things
i seek the sage counsel
of the elders who placed the pomegranate trees
in eden
they tell me to command the fireflies
to float upward
becoming stars
knowing it is i
who determines my fate
avalon built in one night
to be burned again tomorrow
the planets revolve in the palm of my hand
when i consider the algonquin princess
from whose ancient earth-mother chromosomes
i sprang
greek gods conspire to please me
nectar sent from mount olympus
i am humbled with acceptance
my feet no longer feel the ground below
i float over the river styx
hummingbirds fly with lanterns
hanging from their bills
filled with luciferase glow
all of this majesty
so that i may
find my way to heaven
before the gates are closed