The Death of The Dandelions
“Thomas Galt died at his home in this city Friday night last. . . . from the effects of the Ackerman anti-dipsomania gold cure which he was taking. He was 37. . . . he contracted the drink habit and it so obtained the mastery of him that he was much of the time incapacitated for labor. He was so anxious to break the fetters that enslaved him. . . . that he risked and lost his life. . . . He was a great sufferer through the treatment.”
[11/16, Town]
The Death of The Dandelions The skill of the motor. Needs. Stepping over your birthday candles.
My initials are what they are.
I saw you puking into your mother’s heart.
I saw you puking into your mother’s heart.
Growing from the cement
A dandelion.
Why do you kill everything?
Growing from the cement.
A Dandelion.
I waited for you birthday candles to go to sleep.
And they will.
When a person dies they take all their garbage with them.
These will soon be my heroic moments in little land.
They are burning bride maids
Outside.
{Catherine Street. I drove down it twice in one week.} O Catherine If beads of Sweat Appear appeared Over your heart. I pray they to drown you In the ocean bed Of Sea Sponges. You should be focused dead.
And not in accession.
Things will be peaceful.
Or they will not.
The darkness will lift.
Or the light will die.
We will know what we have
Or lose what we got.
I will merge from dark specimens
Filled with love.
I have said
At
21
I was raising a son.
Not running off into a darkness to succumb.
I have had enough of finding the wrong.
Something as soft as a
Dandelion
Is what I am.
The children scrawl their sexual needs on the electric walls of a
Net caught in the whale of an uncaring
Bowel.
And God is here.
In the passing faces. I leave a prayer In every passing one. Even a potion. A potion of God. Protected in the needles of an urchin. 2.
If you sacrifice your life
Then
I
Will forgive you.
A child hold. Tsk. Tsk.
I had not that.
I was consumed.
By sorrow.
Something bigger than
Sorrow.
My people
Left.
When I was quite young.
One empty blanket.
After another.
I became shy.
One’s ear must be tuned to hear the crowd when it dies.
I was too young.
My drums were still
Developing.
I went deaf from death.
Dandelions in the tabernacle of Death.
I was left soundless
Like a flea in
Goat Hair.
I went to work As Richard Burton’s
Chamber Maid. His bedding smelt of cedar and pencils, And motor engines From His Playboy Days. We never bonded But he would often say to me, “Why do you stare so?”
I brought him Cake from the poor. And Dandelions Made from The
Fat of my daughter’s body.
He read my poems and useto sing them out, quietly.
Blowing them into the air the way a child blows a dandelion.
Drawing them in
Drawing them out.
He, that is your father, will look upon you, gal,
The same as I.
“Why do you stare so?’
Because the bleach that I have used to keep your chambers clean
Has aged my hands and fingers.
Because you are a God.
By mistake.
And you will go far away.
And
My hands will heal, Richard.
This is a sad hour. (Her accent is so annoying.) These are sad hours. I will rise from bed. A mixture. Something of wind. From the time The ball is thrown.
Until it
Is met with a glove.
Or earth.
Your witness
A Dandelion
In the March
Of
Winds.
3. My Nation will not kill you. It will deny your species. The oath is everywhere. Now. In the houses Walls Glass windows A child hand’s flows out of the window to fly a paper crane. The oath is in the bones of my children. Oath cannot be concealed Anymore. What would dress this oath? In the dreams of the horses that The children dream about. The path of man. Can. Do anything. These links and pipes were born connected. As of limbs Of Emotions. O God. The Limbs of Rage Out weigh anything I have ever felt. I left the swimming pool of Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane, Evoke the name To protrude your way.
The Jew will turn on the furnace
For the death
Of
My Children.
And Jane will take your soul.
I promise you.
Revenge.





