Rose

My love, wild rose,

Distant & spiritually spent

From narcotic iniquity

Every time I see those bell jars for eyeballs;

The indignity of a dying soul through those irises:

One more petal falls, one less breath arises —

droop… droop…

drop… decomposed.

My love, wild rose,

Sick from the necrotizing mesh

Of cosmic mind, earthly flesh

all strung-out

On the brink of euphoria

In another nameless suburbia;

Zumbie crawling along the plank

of a ship t’sink

Down the unforgiving fissure of early morning

shivers —

lonesome depths only she can feel

Since she worships the opioid pill —

Needle up the vein, soothing those beastly fevers.

My love, wild rose,

Do you remember the tender nursery rhymes of the wind,

or even the godsend of the sun ‘gainst your salamander skin?

What about those summer afternoons

in my car

When we’d watch the rain & a cappella whatever crappy rap

Was on the radio to every passerby’s disdain?

That was the last time I heard you laugh.

My love, wild rose,

Louder & somber’s

The bell that ought to sober her with its knell,

But she can’t stop. No bullshit’s in her intention.

Soon she’ll drop & too late’ll be the intervention.

She’s gotta feed the disease

For any way they please —

Perhaps a quickie in an alley

Or hand-job guarantees —

Sunken cheeked w/ bruised knees.

One more gram for the damned

atop her ashen pyre

of passion.

My love, wild rose,

O how great our distance grows;

Tensions rise, resentment shows:

The god in me no longer recognizes

The god in you through those tin-foil incantations

swirling in your eye. Honestly, how could anyone ignore

This narcosis, this preposterous apotheosis sealed

Away in your sarcophagus, glass phallus tomb?

That goddamned gangly vegetable doom.

My love, wild rose, the

Lugubrious corpse flower in bloom; my dearest friend

Midday’s voodoo rag doll with the black tarred tears

Fulfilling the dull ritual of the little white bag;

Desire’s whimpering fire ever-haunting

In her cold, waxy heart —

Drip…

by drip…

by drip goes its beating walls

‘til no more love, no more faith, no more life from it calls,

And the harp of its dark opera

fades

With that sleepy nod.