Whale Bladder Jesus

Whale Bladder Jesus

I am a broken man looking for what other men might call Jesus

In the feathered arms for an alcove starved and shadowed gripped

Between the narrow questions scrapping these bones for the marrow

Of a man with influenza of explanations bubbling the veins

Of a gender convex misanthropic autoimmune deficiency disorder patient

Huddled in a living bar room of outlawed drinking alone because

Who knows where that one bottle will go onto two or sixty-five?

Still not retired from all these rancid dissections scuttling in this prohibition man soup

Like wild loose commas trying to reverse themselves into stalactite apostrophes

To harbor addendum conversations to rationalize public aisle grocery store

Judgments in arenas of gender that go with single father Indian town banter

Out here on this wild western outpost Sitting Bull is crying foul

Ex wife-take the name off the train depot stationed in this Louisiana mire Alcatraz

Your tribe is undeserving of the moniker of a people’s people nomenclature

Of rotund defiance to keep pushing down that beach-ball truth beneath the

Water’s surface with every measure of repression that an entire clan could

Chime in on the act of calling that Sperm Whale capable of conception all by

Her mammal self and raise our calf in a segregated gold fish tank breathing salt water

For sport in a guttural rejection of science, submerge that inflatable bladder

Plump with helium thoughts continually rising on you in a tsunami of repressed guilt

In an aquarium tank bubble tube ascending shower of encapsulated daddy issues,

Oh, Auga was an alcoholic, screamed at Dutch mum, cockroaches on the counter and threatening to stomp out and keep quiet little girl before daddy runs.  Your dad stayed around because child support was going to garnish his Bacardi budget of cocktails and smokes

High School Chlamydia and a girl so close over the edge and every body’s angel

Can not fly into Jesus’ bed with all your pornographic fantasizing about you and J.C.

Go on live with him in the front pew and show him all you can be, just keep lying to yourself in a maelstrom of mosquito mutant forms a new husband and a fresh concrete form

Molded and emoting plastic lipstick smack talk about who is hurting and who is lost

Staring contest and you broke in under a minute. hypnotize the krill, but not this tortoise

I can live for two hundred years out in these waters dry as can be, knowing which way is up to breathe