At the Biggest Restaurants of the World I Meet You Forever

at the biggest restaurants of the world I meet you forever
rolling fags in the back alley and at
the funeral rites of the sky daily preying; in textbooks, farm fermentories,
and old sad vitrines

eyes fastened to the clouds, lips vessels pinned (an exposition of Saintness)
as if escaping childhood still, your black hair loose
in hurricanes and past safely tucked in a mother that more closely resembles
memory than woman – when did you last tell her you love her?

My dreams are formidable, they shake like
illicit beds, or hospital trolleys, or the minds
of idiots investing in –isms
of every kind

          confetti movements

dog-anxious for a sting.

The poem’s got to be violent and filthy and regretful
shamefaced like a mannequin
dressed in flags and set on fire.

You will never be happy in anyone;
Athens leaves the taste of a scream
on your tongue, a well
choke-full of half-moons and a blanket drenched
in the sweat of fabulous
creatures struggling—

I’m cooking my own madness

and this plant that I got a lifetime ago that they said
at the florist’s won’t bloom
again unless I parch it defies
its seventh winter like a resolute bride like
a crack on the curbside like the force behind a novel
translated


at the biggest restaurants of the world I meet you forever

Kandinsky – Green Composition