THE ALB

by Michi Pantera
I could hear the alb approach
as I too hard to think or say
was phony naked rubbing my wand.
Hairy legged self-fucking outside my body
in the crisp black stain of night,
any night
in the flood of white waste
that to my willowy justice eyes
my life broadcasted.
The spring of life spilt,
On hairy outdoors.
Like books burnt before been written,
The fire illuminated my shame
From the restrain of efficient
Automatic cowardice that infected the recesses of my soul.
My instincts portrait for me the scent of bricks and laquered walls.
Unique breed of animal pang.
It seemed to me.
Crying tiles and singing awnings.
Decorative wings.
Scenic fangs.
Chicken soup.
And sat alone on the temporary no-need bank
of refuge-seeking wanderers,
The cheap alloy pipe I was sweeping floors with,
My thinking focused nudely
At the naked aljama
my childs mind was trapped in,
and leaked.
How did I asexual piece of ethereal bliss
became the ugly mongfish that hides behind
the coat of fecal mirror love? Cry
and die all the doves of my heart
by the thorns of this unwanted vision.
The eyes disdain and say: No,
This is not me.
Tricky blacklegging warlock,
Nasty magic gambler,
Who sipped me off like a potion
In ancient shrine.
Adopted child
in weary heavy vermin Shell of heart.
Unpleasant spell.
Time, no doubt,
Elusive ocean
whose waves delivered this unrepenting joke I drag

or else, drags me as I hear the alb approach.

Remembered then a pair of muddy boots
that steep at my garret in creaking woodboard walk
who say:
Innocence cannot be exposed.
Fetch the pigs a pearl
And dirt will be done with good mens dreams.
I slip under my sheets
Whose whiteness warms me
And shakes off the ugly flies
That perch my wake in the staircase of sleep
Where I will ride
fat mosquitos through forbidden jungles,
while the alb turns day
in another world.