white dog inaugural (himself canine after the rain) by Fred Mecklenburg

Fourth of July
fiery rain burns down through skin
it’s streamers come explosions on the night
melted dials a tortured horse last light bulb on
in limbo
do his hands shake
in terror or prayer or infirmity
or to his own dying music
heart attacked between the lesson and bad life
a fading glow
self-crucifixion by gouging wire
electric lust of past for future
now a whitening dream among fate’s greater scars
poor tyro
let’s unwrap it
merciless bleeding edges of broken mirrors
invisibility becoming a multitude of cuts
hands heart mind stripped naked to autumn
and the crow
doesn’t matter
when your city burns your self becomes fire
and flesh shows only smoke and tinder
and the contemplation of its scattered ashes
year zero
blood red turns pinioned white to black
in the heart of the inferno
in the cut rose
shines a semi-fertile seed of night
sawdust pictures
manipulations done by way of air and straw
and that struck match ever hovers there
I hear him singing to complement the burning
movie show
it’s not Zontar
more alien yet still more hateful
oversprouted thin-skinned vegetable head
and a bitter legion walking dead
in its shadow
a ruined child
its golden treasury of obscene bedtime stories
personal theory of decline in the rank of prophets
rally calls for the tarring and feathering
of the superego
the pale shed tears
glimmering punk lights run off down bad alleys
the grinning cracked walls of debased chapels
rattling bones set dancing by water damage
so thorough
sliced elephants
cut rhino horn ground in occupied nations
animal torture and Aryan hair
blasted poles refrosted with artificial sugar
plastic snow
filthy river
it’s a winding chart of cash payments
and some blood caked favor each one bought
it’s a world within the world lurks
it cries time die
a drawn out torment is its ecstasy
extended limo leaves steel treads over Hammurabi
Nuremburg highs and subordinates trembling
like jello
firebrand fascist
burns up everything beyond a lash’s reach
hell hounds sprung from mothballs half asleep
relearning scents laid up in secret databases
long ago
the carnival color wheel of pain
forever grinding westerly
harvest of sunflowers
blue gun smoke around the moon
he dares the bugs
suck his arm infiltrating little love pumps
fit to burst upon a white sheet
all poetry to be interrupted
merely so
he hides in rooms
seeking anonymity in tangling sheets
until it dawns these blank hotels are teeth
around a mouth swallows earth
as they yellow
he dares the dogs
there’s an atlas of the stars in his room
impact holes in ancient plaster
and a wet scent by which he goads flecked dogs
to bellow
he tells their tale
but only because he may have lived too long
what’s gone is gone buried built over lied
a heart aches for a song and finds itself
a dead radio
this bone prickled creek bed’s called skeleton wash
rib cage freckling in the sand flow
sun soft hiss
in the center of his head
the curses flesh like bites of sunlight
from living water
he dares the dogs
to shake themselves the starry chains of heaven
long dead wells of abstraction
flailing dogs unleashed in the creation
run mad  below
he dares her now
she wants the head of John the Baptist again
flag wrapping illuminated
roman candles pilot fish and nukes
tight set to blow
thrift shop word play embedded with boozy prose
an old friend’s skull become my own
the fossil mites and spiders
frolic bedrock of a dreary head
untimely laughter
he dares all cops
stand flat footed flea bit bleeding midnight
burning up pages from this morning’s papers
a mad dog stinking of last night’s rain fall
timed to go
he dares the state
his cross firmly planted in its landscape
off fields run red with its wolves
the semi-circles of his sweat shocked eyes
roll to follow
morning glory spit stalk nightmare
shirt knit of casual weeds
cut skin passed around
a chorus sounds high locust prayers
a thief’s red hand
a flickering torch lit vainly in pursuit again
recanted citizenship reclaimed
my lost homestead in the arc of his stuffed fist
lays me low
my shirts all smell
cigarettes body odor poverty and shame
bad eyes broken teeth impending lunacy
still laughing up a nasty sleeve
at the preacher’s echo
this empty cry
raining rabid sky spittle and hard dry ice
the man fell asleep across the heating grate won’t hear
but if my Antarctic would shake his Arctic hand
he would know
such a rare bird
its frayed and blood-gorged crimson feathers
with its still thirsty trim of this world’s spectrum flags
and its breathless map hugged hard by a python
brute servitude
laying out horizon lines in southern latitudes
swallowing ocean waves become law
generations sweating life against tyranny
ducks in a row
miss just one thing
ever so trivial it’s death destroyer of worlds
drifting smoke mistaken for your bones in moonlight
it’ll sell the Devil your soul for its one lost ticket
to El Dorado
molten gold rush
Wimoweh manifest pipelines Zantzinger rentals
colonization’s fattening on coke and a smile
Wisconsin Pennsylvania
fifth sixth seventh
but the days of iniquity stand numbered
unrighteous towers eventually fall from within
like straw of prophecy in its crossed divinations
I say so
no diamond
birthed smooth in its venerable pit
be less regnant more fetid my line
more magnetic less bravura
more sonorous and deep embouchured
this white noise won’t do
not now no nor ever

One thought on “white dog inaugural (himself canine after the rain) by Fred Mecklenburg

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