![Ezekiel's_vision[1]](/files/ezekiel's_vision%5B1%5D1298471132.jpg)
Anonyma
A mother’s feet dusty and dirty from walking barefoot in the street;
A teenage girl naked in the mirror
Stops being hot suddenly, in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye;
When chocolate stripes run down her leg like a river—
It’s painful diarrhea brought on by sodomy and gonorrhea,
She succumbs to history repeating itself like a couplet,
And throws herself into the river—
I forgot to tell her I knew she would, there is no de ja’ vu in North Korea—
So soon they forget the way history tumbles like a stone,
Red-faced Sisyphus not remembering a thing—
Nor do I, her tits in my mouth like random butterflies—
Returning, turning inside out, brand new and swollen—
There is no reason for her to speak English with God looking down on her,
With God using her for a plaything—
Kierkegaard sleeping with whores and sometimes their mothers—
Biblical cocksuckers that suck anything—
Even the beautiful child of a Christian mother—
God demands ballerinas and kittens and porn stars in the Garden of Eden—
Robots created in His image barefoot searching for a drunken blonde,
On her hands and knees, rubbing her face in a pile of shit—
Hot diarrhea pouring out of her British ass and her mother’s ass,
Finger pointing towards the crucifix—
Her mother in fishnets wandering the woods
Plucking apples from the trees,
Her ass bare and tattooed, her voice anonymous, her name Animus—
More beautiful then I’ve ever imagined a whore could be—
I’m still looking for the blonde God left tied up in the woods—
Not just this one or that one or covered in sand or wearing dirty socks,
The blonde that smells like peanut butter and looks like she could be part Filipino,
The one who ran down the street naked
With a child’s thigh between her teeth,
Looking for an abortion, have you seen her? Tell me you’ve seen her—
She smiles at Elijah’s memory, Sisyphus lost in the gift of drawing,
Her Renaissance eyes like stone, her soul bleached and damned and nameless and faceless, well read and graced by God, her pussy dripping like always—
Her lip curled, her ass burning like Lot’s long lost sister,
Her heart beating like wood, where will we go without her—?
What say Kierkegaard?
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Ted Frier
Robert Crook
Lauren J Barnhart
Steve Klingaman
Hayley Rose
Ingrid Ricks
Salon.com
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