Sunday, February 11, 2018

Slouching Toward Beyoncé by Morgan Parker

Slouching Toward Beyoncé
Who reads her horoscope
in secret and bathes
her loose strings
in holy watercolor, cucumbers
over the temple. Her body
is like mine it is filled
with holes. It starts black
and stays   Black.
   I keep thinking
   the only city left
   is outer space
     where we lived
   we had tongues.
Things don't fall
apart they find new homes.
Down here there's a thing
called skin   I keep mine clean.
There are things
called medication
and days.     They are hard
to believe. I am tired
so I wife myself.
   Down here
the boys are theoretical.
I shrink their hearts. I say spells because
I'm magic.  Fire
is another word for absolute
sunset on a high cliff.
I am never afraid to jump.
O Beyoncé  I love you
your fragments like a map.
I think I am addicted.
You soaked blue   you trouble
in my sight. The beast has come
at last:   hair of a cattail
and legs of a palm.
The truth like a bowl of seeds.
The secret album. Midnight.
O! Vessel of womanhood
I am loosed upon the world
with dust and filed nails.
All my life I turn water into wine.
This the hour I lower my shoulders.
My second coming: split
screen, clouds like orchid
   bulbs in the throat.

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