POEMS
MORAL DREAM
A little girl in white, gold-haired,
came to my dream and brought a gift:
it was the doll of Christ.
I
was elect!,
not by my
virtU
but by dreams equipped
to take the gift. Oh Gift-Taker, Sir
Equipment to the goddess Pedophilia,
she came to my bed in long gold hair,
and what
I
did with her
I
do not know
because
I
slept in sleep. When
I
awoke,
asleep,
I
found her head balled in the bone
crux of my elbow's calipers. She had
a dead man's face to measure: young
Hitler's, curdled in the flesh, with black
straight hair and two front teeth
knocked out: he was the dead doll of Christ.
I
felt an instantaneous tree of ice
invade my nervous system and connect
dreams' dreams to an historical reality.
Thus,
I
expected Imbsequent atrocities
and woke for whiskey and an armed life.
