marching

charged with a sheen of obscene   armor      then     leaning  on   then huddled in a gazebo  along  the boston  commons                  I      Ma  a   fa         I      strewn   across   the  spine     of  a   stallion       locked    in    all  time    with       the    pale     man      and      then     when          I  ejected     him       running    through    his    dreams      as  the tender  nymph      in     visions      unhallucinated   hallelujah     at   the   pew   stump     which   stunk    of     cotton   leather     tears    and    ham hocked  collards            it    was   a crime    to   call   them     dead   birds,         accuracy     a   form   of  murder             that    I   still   want   you     and     I    want    you    to    want     me   too          dirty     hallelujah       you     cuddling    with   the   flood     in    solar  plexus   orange  rubber      knees    up     shoulders    back   chin   stacked     on      saturn’s     rings      and   pressing   for daisies