The Angel Food Dogs

 Leaping, leaping, leaping,
down line by line,
growling at the cadavers,
filling the holy jugs with their piss,
falling into windows and mauling the parents,
but soft, kiss-soft,
and sobbing sobbing
into their awful dog dish.
No point? No twist for you in my white tunnel? Let me speak plainly, let me whisper it from the podium-- Mother, may I use your pseudonym? May I take the dove named Mary and shove out Anne? May I take my check book, my holographs, my eight naked books, and sign it Mary, Mary, Mary full of grace? I know my name is not offensive but my feet hang in the noose.
I want to be white.
I want to be blue.
I want to be a bee digging into an onion heart, as you did to me, dug and squatted long after death and its fang.
Hail Mary, full of me, Nibbling in the sitting room of my head.
Mary, Mary, virgin forever, whore forever, give me your name, give me your mirror.
Boils fester in my soul, so give me your name so I may kiss them, and they will fly off, nameless but named, and they will fly off like angel food dogs with thee and with thy spirit.
Let me climb the face of my kitchen dog and fly off into my terrified years.

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