09-05-2016, 04:40 PM
MCKINLEY ROAD
On McKinley Road, the devil
waits for me with eyes
and legs open, ready to devour
what should first be fried
on the asphalt. Your glossy
screen, your glassy green
(but artificial) eyes,
your burnt to beauty skin --
somehow, the joy of finding you
alive summons lightning
that strikes the golden shower tree
from which I hang. How the blue
sounds like hounds. How the priest
dipped us in the Jordan to our death
knowing that gills should sprout
from our necks. How we rest.
On McKinley Road, the devil
waits for me with eyes
and legs open, ready to devour
what should first be fried
on the asphalt. Your glossy
screen, your glassy green
(but artificial) eyes,
your burnt to beauty skin --
somehow, the joy of finding you
alive summons lightning
that strikes the golden shower tree
from which I hang. How the blue
sounds like hounds. How the priest
dipped us in the Jordan to our death
knowing that gills should sprout
from our necks. How we rest.