poems
"Frida & Diego"
Fuck me again, you big frog.
But be gentle, my Beloved.
My back hurts so.
And when you capture me
in your thrashing ocean,
thousands of tiny delicate fish
swim up & down against my spine.
Their bones thorny & iridescent,
thin as matchsticks.
They tremble like plucked guitar strings,
sending out splinters of melody
that cut all through me
until i scream out my pain,
in your name.
Oh Diego.
You fucked my sister.
And how many of the cut glass wives
of your imperialist gringo patrons,
those capitalist whores.
I don't know which the more vile,
the husbands or the wives.
But the soiled silk of their diseased cunts
will not come between us.
You fucked a movie star.
I fucked Trotsky.
You fucked Minnie Mouse,
I fucked a great Historical Imperative.
Paint your stories & cartoons on the wall, my darling.
Stuff yourself with birthday cake.
Deep in my barren womb
petals of blood bloom,
a tidal pool
where floats my Buddha baby boy,
with his sad laughing frog face peering out.
Years from now
in the museums & magazines,
on the walls of movie stars' mansions,
will be these
stillborn dreams,
birthed out
on to tin and rough unstained cedar,
in pigments true as menstrual blood.
Portraits of my pain
and of my love for you.
And of the unending mystic dead & living
intwining always within my veins
and tangled in my hair.
You do good honest work, Diego,
good honest work.
But I am the heavy artist of the family.
And my pussy tastes like plum wine.
Drink deep, like Jesus from the cup.
And then fuck me again,
my big beloved frog.
Afterwards i will cook us a dinner of chocolate & pork,
spring onions, and peppered sweet potatoes.
Van Gogh & Gauguin never had it so good.
Fuck me again Diego...
Written New Year's Eve 2001
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