After a Reading

Posted on June 26, 2003 in Poems

It’s brain coral, a fatting lump in the skull,

that pumps against my temporal bones

when middle class poets misread

my eyes’ fascinations as lust.


Perhaps I should build that

plywood cabin in Mexico, mold a little figure of me

out of amaranth dough, crucify it on mesquite,

and spend a hermit’s life praying to my patron saint

as a way of passing obscurity.