I Raise My Pelvis To God So

... A Starving Man Doesn't Ask What The Meal Is.

I Have A Black Look I Do Not Like. It Is A Mask I Try On. I Migrate Toward It And Its Frog Sits On My Lips And Defecates.

Stop The Darkness And Its Amputations And Find The Real Mccoy In The Private Holiness Of My Hands.

So I Won't Hang Around In My Hospital Shift, Repeating The Black Mass And All Of It. I Say Live, Live Because Of The Sun, The Dream, The Excitable Gift.

Our Children Tremble In Their Teen-age Cribs, Whirling Off On A Thumb Or A Motorcycle.