20 January 2012
Invocation of an One-legged Afghani Bike Messenger Too High to Get Home
I humbly implore thee Persian overseer
Máh, twister of months,
Why are you so to our dear cousin Luna?
You encourage her to fullness
And drop her like a coin into darkness.
You are obviously an angel for no man
Would wax a woman so, to let
Her wane alone in the night.
Don't you know how many, commands,
Curses, contracts, cocks & cunts have
Been mouthed in supplication, in her presence,
In her honor, in her dull and unwinking glory?
I ask then sir, please take a gentle hand to my fair mistress,
And turn her to a whole form to shine
Through the gauzy night, and lay bare
The flesh of the Earth, so I may travel
Safely to my pallet beneath a window into
which her arms do fall and lick.
Labels:
bbma,
bike messenger,
boston bike messenger,
Charlotte Praecox Regina,
courier,
dark,
Dick B. Roman,
lyrical snares,
noir,
panic down the well,
poetic stalkings,
poetry,
poetry noir,
speculative fiction,
zine
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