Deena Salzman
Crucifiction

Sometimes I think that life is like a radical from of government:
Great in concept fails in practice.
The sadist turns the whip upon himself. What a genius.
They created Hell for all the things they can not understand. Or control.
So I'm climbing out the window but the rope's a little short.
If I waited and untied it then it might have been too late.
We all must learn h to fall.

God and Nothing don't have meaning until 4 am when it's too late.
I'm trapped and I don't have paper I woke up and where was faith?
With the red chair and the marching demons.
Further Denser
Teeth are marching through my brain.
Destination?
Vast unconscious levels of sublime subordination.

You're so sweet but I shouldn't judge a man by his taste
And I used to be
So bitter.
Black coffee and cheap cigarettes.
It's 4 am again and 'm not afraid of falling. I afraid of never landing
And of losing myself in your deep black sky
And on choking on my lung playing poker with the martyrs.
I don't mean to be a heathen, but I'll tell you someone cheated.
Hell's the garden by the mansion, someone's rooted up the tulips.
Tonight, I'm sleeping. In the tent.
Crucifixion?
Crucifiction.
We're all dead I might be deader but I'll never live to know.

In this life we all own nothing and we sell it as fast as we can. But
Never for enough.
No one is content or ever will be.
You buried yours so deeply that you never even noticed
When it was all carried off by a dog looking for a loan.
And mine is in a brown sack with a handful of my wildest dreams
Being toted by a Gnome on a Harley Davidson.

You locked me in imprisoned cells with nothing but the key.
You knew all too well that I lacked the strength to use it.
So now who held too tightly?
No I don't expect an answer.
We're all liars so what difference does it make?
In the end
In the cracks
Between nothing and even less
All molecular motion's ceased until further notification.
Who controls the metacosmic thermostat?
Heaven gets colder than my hands do in winter.
I assume that the flowers
Still grow.
And when I cried and lost your flower as I watched you fade away
I knew that someday I would know what I was crying for.
And now I do.
Chains
Rope
Love
Breath
And it all seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Back to Issue 2, 1999