Another Measure of Decadence

as the blows against trump get harder
his skull gets thinner
until it’s like eggshell
    so beautiful    he thinks
    like fabargé
the romanovs 
would have been proud

from Trump Tics (2020)

Through the Dark

my mouth makes a noise:
     is it a cat?
     a child?
it creeps through a graveyard
its tongue pulling it along
     the great vacancy
     behind it
     a new kind of oblivion for the dead:

in mouth there is no rot
no bones to be dried
nothing ostentatious
even breath and eating
are from some other place

and it pulls itself along
swallowing nothing
soul's antithesis
leaving nothing
but tracks
an occasional belch
and a faint noise of invisible wheels

from Oedipus' First Lover (2009)

Outside of the Bank

in the financial district      the neglected cardiologist
count the prostitutes

the executive strip club      tears too early to cry
count the prostitutes

the sterling reputation of the corner bank  
the empty middle of gold coins

the last lava shake at pompeii=s last coffeehouse
you could see from the aquarium room on the top floor of your greed
where cattle graze on their passports and entire armies are invented
where memories of trojan air raid sirens 
are the punch lines of broken condom jokes
and the men in blind grey suits     fight on their knees 
with cardboard swords and shields of woven rubber bands
where death is conceptual and sexy
and down several stories    they=ve thrown images of you
like you=d throw clay onto a wheel
and dressed the product in a bright red miniskirt
and a sign that says eat at standard oil
then pretend to give it their hearts    and yours
and give it legionary songs to be played
by quaint belching rodents inside sousaphones
and aim for the gut      it=s the biggest target

your eyes      your living room      your stuffed toy self
your memories of canyon de chelly lascaux and your childhood peter pan
your stray stuffed heart      pounding within the cotton batting
	don’t sell out
	please    world    
	don’t sell out