I must go now.
I snip this cord of acetylene,
I mount the horse of sulfur and hydrogen
dispatch telegrams of frost-crusted roses to the desert,
sink in a goblet of sky, braid
hair of the wind, dabble
with explosives that taste like tamarind,
vomit the elasticity of milk and
pour the blue syrup of siesta.
I will pack my bags and wait at the platform
For the train that roars through a fireplace,
and sleep the long journey to
the attic where
lyres are tuned and all dogs happy.
I must leave.
My skein of blood unravels through another border.
Goodbye to the skins of wine I licked,
goodbye to the hot grottos adrift in smoke,
goodbye to the women who never wrote me, the stars
that leapt under my skin, the shadows
rustling like silk when each door I opened
revealed breasts and hips
turned into a pillar of iodine.
Once I felt the moon jump in my veins,
(I wrote a haiku about this but it got lost),
once I saw balloons released in a plaza
braided with the steam of meat and vendors,
once the water pipes clanked in the boarding house
while the city lit fireworks, and adulterers &
young lovers undressed in rooms jagged with crimson light,
(joy can easily fit in a bed with clean sheets).
But goodbye to you green and white taxi cabs,
I must depart.
Goodbye to your markets where trays
of skinned cowheads are peppered with flies,
goodbye to your recesses of marble & gold faucet bathrooms.
The desert gains another inch,
and there is no wheat to scythe. Hard skies
portend the blue edge of nightmare will cut your dreams,
botch your autopsies,
and plunk your liver in the almoner’s cup,
Because I deny your brothels and dust,
(I couldn’t care less),
I cut all strings never attached, and say
goodbye to your markets and diners,
I foreclose this scrap of light,
crumble your cathedral with a pinch of salt.
Not a peso will be
sweat on interest accrued.
(I must leave now.)
This assassin is hungry.