post ranch lymphomaBy Jerome Dunn
April 03, 2010
for Kathy Acker
Off highway one, just north of Esalen,
I wait as you unwrap the last of the bandages.
Somehow, wordlessly, I trust that
somehow we’re here because trust is
Coz you stopped at the crossroads for me.
Coz if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be about to do this
And trust wouldn’t trust us, coz you wouldn’t
have let me love you completely, which isn’t
what love is
Wordlessly you place my hands on the scars
where they took your breasts.
Your still-radiant ink glowing like the mercury
in those thermometer things they use in burn wards
to find out whatever they want to
So they can verify what they already knew.
Like the invisible lights that kills,
and the pills that cooked your hair
And all the other stuff they did to you.
We’re flirting shamelessly (coz shame negates flirtation)
as my blue and useless ankles dangle over the ocean
You smile, legs wide, with that devious smirk
you level like virulent slit perfume.
“Yeah. “I do.”
I’m done for
Coz avoiding contact, in or out of quarantine
with you’s like smothering a orgy with fuck cartoons.
“My resurrection’s one big fat open wound right now
“Wanna rip out my stitches?”
“Sure. Wanna hack off my cast?”
You’re nibbling my fractures
Gently at first, then less so, then quite a bit less so!
In this tree house, missing limbs like two hatchets
without a grip, we are as amazing as the guillotine.
You: playing Joan of Arc in that scene where
she flips tricks in order to get published
so she can buy gifts for her soldiers
Me: in the role of Judas
selling out to the Pharmacies
And who better to pacify flailing souls
than brute angels with catheter halos?
And so our instincts stoop to mutilation.
And we flay the living shit out of tumors where,
yes, again, love wreaks its preemptive surgeries
until, somehow, wordlessly, trust is
Coz you stopped at the crossroads for me
Yeah. And martyrs on high holy days will
trash the mangers.
We go at each other like impious strangers
And our cylinders gush like slaughterhouse lambs
and our hearts breathe “Mercy”
and we whisper Mercy
And the wind cries