Conversations had on a Lazy Afternoon Under the Meth Tree

The body coiled up
like an onyx serpent
on the lion’s paws.
Ghastly, sadistic,
he asks me
if I’ve ever tried
anal before.
This was the only safe place
in the chemical snowstorm, and
all there was to slake my thirst
were wine glasses of violet cologne.
Just like my ex-wife Sappho,
I exclaim:
Virginity, lifeless miscreant!
Why would you ever deign to approach me
when your only aim was to trample my naivety?
Too young to be jaded,
the chemically dependent
and the faithful sardonically explain,
“You were not born here.”
Oust the stranger
from our midst.
Send her back to Lesbos
to consort with the ragged countrygirls
on the fruitless quest for that which never existed,
for that which has always been silent.


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