The Night Drops Carbon
by Asher Blake
The bath of night is a shining pig,
the wicked drive into its teats full of hooch.
There is music forgotten by the musicians;
but they are heavy with milk from the sky.
The night drops on its children
like a weary blessing.
The night falls
like a rubber spider somewhere to force a laugh.
The night is a genie
for an ignoramus.
As the robber dons his dark
clothes quickly so we put the night upon us.
The night only falls
continually before us like a moth
as we speak.
The bath of night bedevils me,
drains between my legs.
She is pockmarked and porcine;
But I have smashed my evening tea set
for the music.
I swell with her like child.
I assume what we all assume, the night
before our births,
exhaling the holy cistern like a stream back into
my mother, or back into thine.
With all the locks of wisdom shaken
loose – hold my hand
or I will plunge into the black sleep
Save me from the night it poses for a mug shot.
Save me from the future already black and white.
I am afraid I’ve read the black book
of night, for now she is naked
and I know her easy lies.
Still I marvel at the salon of women lovers;
how they labor with risen dead girls on their backs.
They swim on and on, as sudden as a flame
or school of fish.
The honeymoon does vex the spinster,
and the spinster intrudes upon their sex.
And the girls who dream
only seem to have good taste,
but tease their long hair
with wavy permanents.
Alpha and Omega, with stars in His punctured hands;
the Lord of sky and soil knotted His bandanna up
to disguise His feathered headdress,
blue and red and white with glory.
Sky is a holy mountain, the Sinai only He can climb,
black spangled in your paisley sigh,
your sunset’s exclamation!
My God has mountains
like darkened domes instead of shoulders!
Have you ever seen the reaping of the foil hat?
Have you ever seen the weakling lower
his head and plow into the Devil?
The Lord in His peaked helmet of night,
bends and plows into us now. Praise Him!