See You on the Other Side

Shady mornings, under many moons, Astoria’s veil-shrouding of sun,
Éirinn go Brách, "Ireland unTELL eternity,” I thought she must mean me, but could just have easily been, you, her incessant go, go, go, the rubbered look of Finnish lips, heavy-swaying, demoralizing breasts, her wide kicking hips describing her ties to sisu. You know she is tacking your Wanted, Dead or Alive pics, western-style, on youtube, for today, who relies on the solid, stands of splintered and tarred telephone-poles?

The vigor-vulgar of see-soo, she just won’t stop, until your greasy-collared-neck, is nailed to the community center door. And, I fear until then,
your very expiry is required, shot and torn asunder,
for your erect pressings, that only then, will the sun peak from behind,
position itself, as that heaven-piercing light-beam, atop the biggest pine,
streaming, to meet the steamy fecund ground,

Ascension through that blinding dot in the sky, the very eye of the camel’s needle, mote and beams, she saw your teeth as snarled, wrists as weak, when I worried, others, would see the beauty in these, steal them away for their own—in Mensa fashion, crosses are twirled. Our matching snowy white forearms, lined with trails of glowing-red, geranium petals, those once upon flashes, druids, pigs, our Own, old land.

Photo & words are mine.