Whispering in tongues, if you listen, you will hear
aluminum scraping, but I hear the lull, murmurs
I want them all to disappear
his ex-wife, two blue-eyed boys, a former lifestyle,
labels like “father” and “glass ceilings” lost and lodged,
folds in wrinkles around the edges.
This is how all opened-mouth atoms vibrating
near me are rewarded: I make them disappear,
parapet molded by warped dust on the shelves.
The foil lips want to tap her on the clavicle, remind
her she won’t be forgiven for abusing my rabbit.
Rosemary and her babies. Worse off than any
devil from a film. The final scene: never forget
how fucking selfish she is–keeping pawns in boiling
tar. Only Rosemary. Then scrapings again, far away,
sounds something like no remorse. No remorse.
St Augustine, burning with all of them caught in
coquina–that’s what it’s for, after all, concreting sand
and shells and coffins, no escape for those sunken Augustians.
Oh well. Because I am selfish, too,I want Richie all to myself.
I want to fill him with helium and watch him float for years,
so everyone who gazes upward will admire his yellow glow,
it radiates “freedom” and rebirth plastered in the sky.