Second Coming

 On Hart Island's ground hallowed
for forgotten fugitives of the night,
Jezebel dances nude but for sweat
glistening amber like imperial topaz
under the woeful shine of hungover
moonlight, a junkie for eternal love
sifting through dirt longing to fuck
the dead out of shallow graves .

The femme fatale's experience
that among the living all men
are assholes with every Tom,
Dick and Harry so preoccupied
with their penis that passion
becomes intermission for pastimes
of sport and romance rots in vases
of rancid roses stolen from funerals.
Fingers vacillating in a lonesome
vagina turn arthritic in the long cold.

Bereft of birr she lays spread
eagle on barren fields moist
of cunt and mourning dreams
of a stable of indentured studs
from princes in royal regalia
to bikers in black cowhide
focused on fulfilling pleasure
to every succulent cell of her body.

Wild spirits commune in the wind
tickling her nipples till ripples
of electricity tango up and down
her tattooed snake of spine
charging life into the serpent
swaying the pendulum of pubic
opinion from a desperate emblem
of delusion to an image of divine
inspiration and ghosts penetrate
the void till heaven spills inside.