The abyss has its own rewards
for Steve Farmer
I.
For each four-leaf clover
a six-legged frog
For each lickable fury
a feral angel
For each flaming marshmallow
a runaway shopping cart
For each scribbled treasure map
a secret test
For each naked promise
a silkworm intervention
Cellos & snakes at the heart
of every cool mistake
II.
Use this as a compass
Use this for the ritual
Use this for keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or
loss, & chant: pain, begone, I will have no more of thee
Use this bastard wing folded behind your back, your finely tuned
clavicle, your hair as lasso or noose
Use this splitting image, these words (fallen from my mouth), this
door (formerly a window)
Use all our girlhood superstition about scoliosis, hexes, poxes &
penitence
III.
To believe but only sometimes
To unearth a more useful abyss
To seek prophetic messages in the warm glow of yesterday’s shock
To navigate the inevitable underworld with pure conviction
To translate fear into possibility
To change the taste of sleep
IV.
Use quiet awe
Use your tongue, the strongest muscle
in your body
Use coffee, candy, secret stale cigarettes hidden
in the back of the medicine cabinet
Use the weight of your gaze, the curve of your
spine, the return of your voice
Use all of this as protection from hegemony
& cultural appropriation
Use glitter & guile to disguise your despair
V.
For each deathless beauty
a noble failure
For each lesser enchantment
a graceful détente
For each responsive machine
a choreographed catastrophe
For each psychosexual apocalypse
a disruption contingency
For each tedious evil
a sudden deliverance
Delight & delirium in the rubber room
of every season in hell