toy christ

the sun is snuffed by oily
clouds;
I flip the king on the table
face-side up–
the eyes are gouged-out.
an old woman throws a bucket of piss out the window
as they enter the gate for the
6th race.
a door closes like the end of everything.
the machinegunners at the pass
tell dirty jokes.
the lemon trees lean and moan
not wanting to bear
the good yellow fruit.
it rains, the landlord looks at me with
angry eyes.

get 5 pounds of hamburger
shape it into a head–
grapes for eyes, green grapes, and no
body needed, and it can’t hear, and I’ll
make the mouth–there!–
but what’ll we have it
say?

in garages, murders are enacted
in attics great paintings are painted
dogs die at night
in attics murders are
completed.

the president uses good toilet paper
the chickens eat grain don’t
complain.   can’t.   get out.   they are
eaten at one end or all
together.
Man sometimes knows he is being eaten
at both ends
only he doesn’t know what to do
about it
except
write songs, drink, screw, go
crazy, assassinate, wait to
die.

dear maw: I don’t mean to brag but
there’s this great sheeny red blash of blood
going down my chest, and it rained today, ha,
and I’m strapped to the ground here,
like a little christ
like a little toy christ

but it’s warm
I
eat cheese
scratch
read old newspapers
wonder about the republican party
about the communist party
about all the parties
wonder about 800 billion Paris orgies
wonder about 800 billion pairs of outworn and torn
ladies’
panties while
ships are sailing planes flying palms sweating cocks
stroking tubs filling tubs draining tubs empty tubs
clean tubs dirty sewers filling

paint
painting
plants
growing
pants showing
children
yowling all I’ve got to do is
lay down on this torn mattress and
let go–
like falling through space with a bag of ripe
avocados

as the sky clubs the land across the neck
like a dead and rubbery Mexican cactus at
two minutes to midnight and
two hundred million refrigerator doors
open.