Hover through the Fog and Filthy Air

 
Nursery school for demons

Getting to know yourself through crime

Brain music

like a wounded ambulance

praying in tongues

 

Telepathic merchandise

A rhapsodic interrogation of love

Another haunted customer

Soothing you to sleep

and infesting your dreams with mechanical tarantulas

 

Carnivorous mirage

The night that hides

inside the night you know

The night that knows you

 

The fierce bliss

of the holy glint

The lethal myth

you carried

all your life

 

The voice

within my voice

the only one I listen to

was never born

 

Sometimes everything’s my child

Emotions are deployed

in glassy air


Lots of wondering what to do

in the empty lobby

And the all night laundromat

The diamond swimming in the noisy light

A little origami holy ghost

The rain goes on softly

not wanting to know

my side of the story


Bloodstreams running

with whispering stars

A loose confederation

of feral children

without human language

living in ruined cathedrals on the moon

pledging allegiance to

the buildings

and how they appear

the grey noise

of the interstate

new understandings

of madness

 and terrible love

half buried

in debris

The trapeze artist of the abyss

Her discipline

Her ascetic silhouette

The way we never see her face

no matter how she twists



Your Vagina

 

I believe in your vagina

 and its reifications

and its spooky action

at a distance

its haunted crossroads

 

I believe in your vagina

and take it pretty seriously

because of its chaos

 

I can barely handle your vagina

Your vagina took me to church

and my mutilated childhood was made whole

 

I’ve grown old

waiting for your vagina to find me

 

I think about the religious amnesias it gives

how it destroys time

the latent criminality of its smile

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Bill Wolack

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Richard Cronshey is the author of four books of poems. He lives in the Western United States.