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Ionized Ghazal
by Red Slider
of our enemies, the care bent hell razed well, dry the dust.
Fill another glass in this dark saloon, at last such thirst
as clamps the sunrise, the next round as descries the dust.
You there! Dung Madonna, serve your servant kneeling as the golden
sawdust between his knees; as animal art, his heart crying in the dust.
Ho! A merry circus family there! traveling from town to town;
an incestuous hairy bunch of freaks cavorting, oh so wry, the dust.
Do you dare join them end to end? close-ups shrieking in the place—
mat of melted glass faces, bubbling again from the fallen sky, the dust
Ferocious streaks split the pelt of rusted fur, elegance worn around thin
wounds from nose, mouth, nipples; pale yellow ass dyes the dust.
Wake me from within, for without there is your aching cliché taking
saccharine shape in passing cloud; I tire of laying on my back eyeing the dust.
Converge at the rumbling of the dead—A great steed rears overhead
as the slenderness of silence' edge-turned to the bright eye, the dust.
