Citrus
In the night air
Midnight in that garden
Of good
(and evil)
Oh, yeah!
Lemon-scented
Moon-riddled
Almost De La Renta
But not
Not so cheap
Not
But not real either
Just
The scent of summer
Night
Summer night …
But this is about death
Not the scented garden of the tossing night
So I digress
(is this a surprise?)
This is about
This is about
This is about
Death
The messenger has come
This
Angel
Bringer of love
Advocate of the abyss
Night Porter
At the celestial needle exchange
With her I-I-I
Razor wit
Snow plough
When needed
She was always needed
She who lost her speech in the stammer of pain
She who prayed
Whose prayer
Was not the Kaddish planned
(Aramaic not Hebrew
As it should be)
But she did ~
Odd
They are female
Angels
always
even Michael
is a she
(arch though she is) ~
Are fallen
(Due to spousing
Mating with humans
Now that is true toil)
Sharing
That which is forbidden
The Knowing
She did
Point to that place
That place in Central Park
That place
Where the needle first gnawed
(Piquant)
The blade first slid
(Astute)
The Ramble
Close to
The Angel of the Waters
Bethesda
And
Sanctification.
How significant was that?
Significant?
Ah, yes
(ah, as in that first needle before the damage done
That hard flesh needle
Following
The silver sliver
Before that damage done)
Ah as in just breathe
‘Emma loves Charlotte’
Emma the First
Her Charlie Girl
Charlotte Saunders Cushman
Ems 4 Charlie 4 eva
Like you
In Central Park
Forever
A comparable
Queer
Ground Zero
For us
Forever
(Now that will piss them off)
But
Yes, you are right
Right to remind me
This is about death
And angels
Not Hamied
Not Elijah
Not Gazardiel
But
Ezekial
That tiger angel
Israfel
Who sang to me
These songs of death
Sowed that seed
On fertile ground
Conception
For the end
At the beginning
Feeding the crop of love with
Love
(your faux love)
And
I
I
I
Just like
Kushner did
And in that early year month
You waited in the Ramble
For this seeker of angel touch
Angel light
Angel sweet
Sweet
Song of Israfel
And fed me
Fed me
Fed me
In the sight of Bethesda
Blindfold
She let me slide the needle in
She let me slice my flesh
With
Smiling
Protestations
Called
Don’t
Called
I did that once
Do Not Go There
Called
I –
I –
I –
Greetings Prophet!
The great work begins!
The Messenger has arrived!
In that beginning was the word
And that word was
God
And that God was
You
And I was born again
Born
Fucking
Again!
Fuck the truth
I usually say
But mostly
Without the benefit of original thought
Let alone original sin
Mostly I say
That
Mostly
Mostly
Mostly
The truth fucks you
Angel
Not in America
But
Nearby
Angel
You are spirit proof
Of the lie
The promise made
Yet
Unfulfilled
The celestial post-person
Who never
Comes
The promise with no delivery
The cup that fails to cheer
The myth
(I thought the myth)
That this tiger angel
This Israfel
This Ezekial
Would
As others had before her
(They being very potent with such spirits)
Would abuse me then to damn me
Dropped past me
As doves at dusk
Plummeting with the dull thud
Of evening’s rise
For me to miss them
I missed the truth
‘Mostly the truth fucks you’
Now
I mythologise
Again
The doves rise with the day
But Mr Kurtz, he dead
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Not with a bang but with a whimper?
Mr Kurtz, he rise no more
Damned
Neither he nor she
Nor
It
Will rise no more
Too much?
Is this the way the world ends?
I
Who pleaded to be born again
(O hear me)
Let not the bloodsucking bat
Or the rat
Or the stoat
Or the club-footed ghoul
Come near me
For I could shed hot blood
Breathe out contagion
Spike the good spike
Onward
Onward
Onward
Vengeance
Oh vengeance
But there is a jury out on my unanswered correspondence
A jury room
Redolent with the echoes of voices of hope
Not
Guilty or not
But
Voices of hope
Of
Second chance
And
Second coming
Correspondence not addressed
No postcode for death or heaven
So
Limbo is the bar under which I stoop
Each
Day
I hope
(Pathetic I hope)
While I wait for the laying on of hands
Psychic hands
Not of your hands
Ezekial
You in dread discord
With
The song of Israfel
That angelic voice
Alien
Damaged
Flawed
Dangerous
Yet without blemish
I pray now to Ramiel
Await his/her touch
Wait
Wait
Wait
A watcher
Waiting
For
The Thunder of God.
dykiegirl 