Conjugal Visitation

An ordinary love story,
Baked in clay;
While Bartholomew
Spent his days
Dreaming of the ocean.

I screened a number
Of elevator musicals;
Came up with ornamental
Philosophies based
On the cold and callous
Intercessions of devils.

Until that day in February
When hells broke open
And confiscated my youth
To a degree
Of folly
And quietude.

My back was broken
In thirteen parts;
Butt glued in intervals.

And God spoke to me
With a judging and condemning

And I walked the cold
Streets of Iowa City
In the dark without a way home;
My feet burning from the cold.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s