written in the season of cattle mutilation
the stars drip with semen, the moon shedding
menstrual blood onto quiet suburbs – up here
the night sky is dark and quiet
as it was when the universe was young
unpeopled, the copulating planets
made invisible by white streetlight
the Pleiades are leering cannibals
six gaping mouths stained red
to be human is to hate the stars
to hide from the moon in a cave
and carve insults to the sun, symbol of tyranny
deep and bitter into a cliff face.
when I go outdoors, I always wear a hat
so the sun can’t ejaculate onto my face
and when I look up at night, I imagine
Voyager-II being sodomized by comets
ten-thousand years from now.
when you look up, all you can see
is a sterile womb, an emptiness above
that points to an emptiness below
something that rots in millions of years
as opposed to a hundred, the faulty design
of a blind universe made by a lonely God
one with too many faults to name here
who still gave to me the sight of clouds
as vast as city blocks above I-95 and the
warm breeze on my face when I walk your dog
down quiet streets, past derelict barns and homes
unbelievably larger than yours.
for that, at least
we can thank God!
