poem: Monarch of the Desert

Monarch of the Desert

We erect a throne for
our most high Empress of the Dry.
She’s got flaming hair,
a real scorcher, and hot potato eyes
purveying our unworthy hoisting
and hammering of tumbleweed.
She’s pretty light, our Sorceress,
who bids saguaros hokey pokey.

Mirage or not, tales of healing palms
lure pilgrims to our vastland.
The springs of Baden Baden?
Miss Piggy Bubblebath soothes as good.
No, it is the bleating sun which
waltzes away particles of woe.
Her Majesty’s royal buttocks alight upon
our feeble rolling chair as suppliants
line up: the tattooed, people birds
who can’t STOP MOLTING!
The eternally diminishing.

Imagine knowing minute-to-minute
that minute-to-minute you’re less
than you think you are.

All beseech Queenie to Halt Manufacture
of Teeny Weeny Envelopes
in Which Lives Are Sequentially Sealed.
Her Brittleness bans Fed-Ex.

It is time to utilize the gift of fire.



from The Future Is Happy (available through Small Press Distribution, Barnes and Noble online, Amazon, Open Books in Seattle, Bluestockings Bookstore in Manhattan, Unnameable Books in Brooklyn).