Carrying three cherries in teeth of the once dead is difficult

I’m different now. I braid my hair

To the side. Today, caterpillars

On windowsill tore themselves—

Your hand, praying thing, in my yellow

Coat. On fire in a dream, field-skin.

I’m different. I look for your lost

Body in him, in the train conductor,

Taking my ticket, the waiter, saying:

I can’t wait to see you naked. Hands

Reach for the other side of nets, tearing

Themselves apart, horrors—

My gods are different now. Angry,

They listen, ghost, the way pain

Bends, separates body from need—

I forgot what man looks like, frightened,

Waiting to split wood apart, find me.


The yellow coat—horrors gods will say

in my ear next to fruit. The window opened,

I picked round bellies, thought of teeth.

What do you want from me, a way out of tasting—

The net gathers here, you said, pointing to my neck.

Is that so? I said. Buttoned the doorframe after

You left. Ghost-herd pawing the green. I’ll lay

Three cherries in a bowl. Beat your body, dream.


On a line in blue, a yellow coat

Hoards child porn in pockets.

I ate it. Is that so? I’m angry,

Different than before. Not a cherry-tree,

An oak. A door in a cavern

Everyone’s scared to open.


Carrying three cherries in teeth of the once dead is difficult—

They moan from behind a screen—Give it. My children in it.

What do they expect me to do—beat her,

My reflection, until the gods come running—

The last time I read the gospels, an oak opened

Me, yellow coat child—I felt cutting

through the windowsill, a body peeling

fields of skin, said, Let me taste him.


1 Comment

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One response to “Carrying three cherries in teeth of the once dead is difficult

  1. Excellent. Tell us about the angry gods.

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