Blood Oranges

The sky draped like a tent billowing above the hills
revolving divine images of Durga the fragrance & color of blood oranges
White light dappled in the cherry blossoms cupped in my hands fluttering
like so many incandescent
butterflies
Down the alleyway crackheads sit on a torn up sofa torching glass pipes
with a
butane lighter
Still the photographer stands on the corner waiting for the perfect picture



"You Rant, But Who Listens?"

the future listens,
     the stars know,
the ancestors are grateful
the gods understand



Obscure Moment

scrutiny of eyes
tortured looks
obscure formations
everywhere I look I see you
transposed
pixilated
dissolved
re-arranged
only to find my mind erased
staring at nothing

©Lynne Douglass

How Jesus Became A Shrunken Penis

Buried with his hair growing out of the ground encrusted with dirt and sperm
he rests a tiny embryo shrunken in brine.


America

She is expensive but has cheap tastes
When she is not hallucinating clean water in a plastic bottle
She is spending money on facelifts
bust implants and cancer producing vaginal inserts
fat free potato chips and diet pills keep her happy

Choking on radium pellets
Craving can cokes and white bread
Her fingers severing the hands to do her shit work

Dipped in the flesh of dead Indians cooked in Texas chili sauce
Florida becomes a small penis stuck betwen her sagging breasts
The Andes form the topographies of her cellulite covered thighs
What is Mexico? If not the armpit of her muff
Masturbating to the droning sound of atomic explosions
Her plush existence held together with collateral damage

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