Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-one
Spring 2013
 
to galilee
Alexander Chisum

spring is no thing hurt in alabama, unless a clit of clover

gripped in my lisp is. pluck’d pucker


like cash I didn’t fuck for, I gasp and gleam


like a knife through meat, i guess, sometimes. a knuckle

of corn shrugs its husk, stormclouds their dusky buckets.


someone’s sister struts and cusses,

peels her dress like a condom.


‘never smoke a cig so starry’ she says,

and I : ‘filthy, lovely habit. a spit-on-my-grave


type life-affirming.’ mine’s a black heart barbed

with stars, carnations and kind words,

                                                             a pinup-tit zodiac,

a flesh show braggadocio of live nude neon, lub-dub

humdrumming of love polyps in rib cages:


tintinnabular snapdragons, all

pink-blinking,       windblown.       I’ll not say ‘diseased’


to the rash of peach blossoms, the syphilitic sprigs

of thyme.       go in peace,       go westward,


to hollywood, the sea.


a pornography of bee-

stung blooms lines the highway to galilee.

About Alexander Chisum

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