Love Lines

A red rainbow spurts –
out from the crying clouds –
and with the drab contemplation
of a period of rainy days –
I think how hard it must be –
to be alone with endless pads –
of paper in that life’s house –
watching flies die and thinking –
how it is to die – and I –
see your wispy smile and imagine my
cherry tongue slip inside –
those grim horizontal parentheses –
as a dying soldier plants his flagpole
on conquered ambivalent ground –
and I know now that I –
I want to fuck you,
Emily Dickinson.

Like the virgin TS Eliot finally –
coming in our twenties – I
want to make that wasteland real –
tear through that sad, antique veil –
clasp my thumbs on trembling thighs –
penetrate that semi colon;
spray that empty crypt –
with epic, soaring riffs –
blast on past the torch-lit milestones –
back on through the modern times –
with the bearers looking on, like
Williams, Stevens, Wright —
winking, grinning, nodding “Go!”
now I want everyone to know –
I want to – fuck you, Emily –
Dickinson.

No question mark – it’s real –
for I know just how you feel –
You’re Mona Lisa, Gertrude Stein
You are all a ‘twain of minds,
like the blackbirds flying forever
widening circles ‘round the lines –
I will push the rhymes in rhythm
thrusting apostrophic grunts –
filling up that spinster pool –
tearing off those virgin blinds –
impaling on delicious plums –
panting hard – taking breath –
thinking of death.

I will labor to savor that
somber slit of smile –
called forth from
dead leaves wet with rain –
lit up by the red rainbow
sliding down from yonder sky –
merging deep inside –
the sad souls uncontrolled –
I love your mind –
and precious dashing lines – they are,
indeed, just like mine,
I want to –
fuck you –
Emily Dickinson.

Damon Norko

Love Lines appeared in The Annual #001 which can be purchased here.

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