SALOME, SALOME

SALOME SALOME


it makes me want to throw dignity to the wind
and fuck the head of john the baptist in vacant retribution



THESE HANDS CAN’T RECALL WHAT IT FELT LIKE TO CRADLE A KITTEN


my head cannot recall the once-succulent
wholeness of my soul
where is the minute hand on the face of a cut watermelon?
what are these ants feasting on the twisting corpse of salvador?



WHAT ARE THESE IMPRUDENT PATTERNS OF NON-SPEECH?


julius, oh julius, wherefore art thou julienned?
pan has sat through every play in the world
and he called this one a disgrace
but soft! will pan ever become my eromenos?
to whom have i fed pelops and brought this into being?
can all the earl of nottingham’s men put this together again?



SALOME, SALOME


perhaps this round of roman roulette will grant you a name
i feel placated, I have wrung my phalanges dry
i am theseus lost in the labyrinth of translation
i know where you are but I am comfortable in my disbelief