Northumberland Bestiary (Detail), 1250–60, courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program
Call me blood,
brother. Crouched
ogre gathers
forces together
under gangrenous
cover. Street
lamps glow
ochre. Never-Never
gonna Land
again, Peter
Pan of ruined
heirlooms. Nike
Hulk, nukes
sidewalk. Knuckles
coaxed and cocked,
ready to fist
fuck like Christ
did Judas. God
never gave us
the gun in our
mouths. God
is a gun
in the
mouth.
Burned boys learned by rote
to speak the white tundra
mantra of machismo and media
He taught us to sing. This
is it in the eve of its leavening, and
this is it leaving. This is it
returning again. And this
is the drought and the routed
field. This is the farm and this
is the pharmaceutical. This is god’s
will, and this is his little yellow
pill. This tablet is so ancient,
this fable is so fabulous. It says
the pill will help you fall. Will
help you watch the world burn.
It will decapitate the genitals, and
free you from the sensory
hell. Abandoned-building boy-body
tells another story.
Think catharsis
is a trick
of psychiatry,
a tricycle
with no wheels,
caterwauling
that mauls. It’s
what Tommy said
the first time
the knife goes in
is like, said
it’s the bluest
blue blooming
from the beloved’s
belly, relief
of intestines
and secrets.
Fluorescent
vomit and neon
putrefying
pavements.
Miggy Angel writes books and edits Burning House Press. Boy, Bestiary is forthcoming from Ice Floe Press, 2019.
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