Poetry
My Own Version of You
I make my own version of you
from the one who starts out a poor agrarian boy in trouble with the cops
who wears a sequined apron
who hears my first good poem then kisses my cheek
whose forehead grows horns
who attempts emerging from darkness through the presumption of dawn
who is the face of Masala Munch
who gives reasons why things look as they do
who refuses his sorrow to turn to hate
who hangs a small plastic Hanuman from his sail
who takes part in the life of a sparrow visiting his window
who endorses body sprays and beard trimmers for gents to “look fresh”
who thanks to Isis is transformed from a donkey back to a man
who first encountering her signature song asks, “What does ‘pastoral’ mean?”
who is forced into imagination and self-observation
who perfects wireless electricity at 46 and 48 East Houston Street
who loosens self from gravity
who argues the automatism of life
who requests substitutions when ordering a Cobb salad
whose corpse is identified by the books in his pockets
who begins "Raining Blood" with ominous drums
who is lost in Rome, contemplates suicide, then is dissuaded by voices he last heard in childhood
whose skull resonates with song
who authors The Antidote
who turns her head in imitation of the sun
whose poet get-together loses all cheer (Stalin on the phone)
who disguises himself as Hermes to serve as psychopomp
whose garlanded donkey intuits the gospel
whose spirit journey requires he clings hard to a speeding cloud
who invokes the dog that's got no master
who notifies a MoMA security guard that their Matisse is upside-down
who sings not quite as divinely as Roy Orbison but is exponentially more handsome
who requests his corpse be dumped before the White House
who reads in a dictionary that he's the only cited authority for a word he's unsure ever existed
whose tagline, "This is the cycle of life," is a comfort in evil times
who trains racehorses immortalized on earthen lamps
who's a gentleman cricketeer on a drinks break
who gives me directions to the temple of Santa Muerte
who ignites her Bösendorfer in a Florida parking lot
who organizes readings for all visiting poets
who drops his Phoenician urn and trembles before Boeotia's serpent
who instructs his session players, "Go for whatever you're hearing"
who cruises gardens, promenades, stadia, and toilets
who sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" in my despair
who is my sister in spiritual delinquency
who plants serpent teeth and harvests men in armor
whose heart resists cremation
who envisions a brigade of nurses parachuting behind enemy lines
who covers his forehead in ash
who through friendship confirms the gospel of Christ
who when dying hands over his water and explains, "Your need is greater than mine."
who boops the snoot
who kisses me on the lips after his concert at The Masonic and says, "You're a good boy"
who's stunned to see a young shepherd draw a perfect circle
who tours Europe dancing around teepees with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show
who introduces the saxophone to Ethiopia
who sings within its egg before hatching
who wants to fuck me like an animal and feel me from the inside
who tells friends that in Greece she'll be sane
who believes there is nothing like fine weather, and health, and Books, and a fine country, and a
contented mind, and Diligent-habit of reading and thinking, and an amulet against the ennui
who works as an umbrella holder and in downtime writes poems to Shiva
who is tasked with turning up the sound
who assists excavations by Prince Giovanni Torlonia
who acknowledges that baths, wine, and sex ruin our bodies but make life itself
who seeks a world as beautiful as his wardrobe
whose sexual charisma catalyzes societal collapse
who says she'd be a great Supreme Court justice because she's always been judgmental
who's fairest among hills and vales
who meeting Queen Victoria likens her to an approaching fire but enjoys his visit
who finds a moment of mercy in Tomis
who walks into the blade-like arms of God