12.02
these two women have left my side again, oh they belong
to each other and their (love) is more
intimate-
deeper than I can go
but I feed their appetite for immortality
I make false idols of them, stacking word on word
patting new words on like a child adds wet sand
to a castle on the beach
I scrabble and sweat at the sea, making
Castles of poems
but time is pouring off
like sand
through my fingers
and the plainer my poems become
the farther they drift to money and the spices
of blindingly beautiful sex
with great monsters of beauty
inside /out sex on beds of cash
and then (R) fed the finest wines at erotic
banquets
by thousands (millions) who will assure that the juices flow
and flow of their flesh
and their brains
until their dead smiles adorn the clouds
and their perfect white bodies retrieve
like foam from shore to sea.
I am left here wearing the gold band
of November’s frigid unions
twirling it on my finger
thinking of their exquisite long legs that pulverized
my soul
opening and closing like implements
of ancient torture
as I screamed in ecstasy and
self loathing