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

     before

   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.