Sex Magick

                Homage to Marina Abramović

here stand my twelve pillows, tall tuft
of turtle dove and pig’s feet and night
pain. here stand my silent vowels, jack

knifing knots between nutgrass & wet
ghost. here stand my balkans
running in the rain. bloodless. bloody.

nervy. here stand my bushtits: jubilant as
porbeagle & sweetquail & nuclear fruits
lunging teeth of gloriosa at your doorstep

drawing screams as if auctioneer of hours
wokked in rectangles of hellwood—woke
women who know exactly how to horrify
the gods & what not—a clay tablet the size
of a cell phone?—stop the rain. punish you.

eat.