Next time you see me, call me by my true name
Like the entity I saw in the woods at Sacandaga.
Draw the tears from my eyes like syringe sunsets.
Toss the shards of my bastard self into the river and watch them float
Down to where the sun and rocks form a pinprick in space.
Bless the fish that nibble my fingers and blow kisses wrapped in bubbles.
Don’t mistake halos for hatred. Undo old regrets with lasers
Pointed in the eyes of babies whose hands reach across time,
To grasp your heart and crumple it like a dead leaf.
Let the Stone Man’s voice shred your eardrums like paper.
Allow the Methodical One to diagram the fact that Lust is king
And remind you that continuity will someday end.
All things will return to the river, and the river will boil under the sun.
The sun will swell like a grape left too long on the vine
And the vine will fragment into motes too small for fish to taste.
When all things assimilate, the Bell will signal feasting and sleep.
Soup will cool uneaten, and beards will be strewn with crumbs.
Eulogies will pound nails into rickety wood.
Mausoleums will become the things they were built to enshrine.
When that time comes, I will be a dime on someone’s eyes.
A stranger I wouldn’t have been able to perceive
Without the knowledge that crying is a crime
Only to those whose hearts have been stowed
In the baggage compartment of the last flight out of Laredo.