I made the mistake
–A language which dowses me
but if she were disrobed
from my exiled python
I could not be happy then;
I had slept in again
after they drank beer belonging
to their fathers, only had seen
them in chiffon, touching each other
discarding haar fleece; I only fake-married
a woman I had met once before
I let her keep the banns,
told her I didn’t care what she did with it.
She had eyes that hid a body, perhaps,
made me dizzy before we abandoned each other.
The rest of the night
I talked with my mother,
becoming both an adulterer
and mesquite whore for being anywhere else
except where I was.
I imagined the loss
of the oleanders; both murderer and adulterer,
the woman I had married, perhaps the same
as when we first met.
There was nowhere
crawling the panics and
the ruins of Villa romaine
except for people asking where to get beer and pot
except for me hiding downstairs
insulated from the conflux.
I was never good at parties.
I thought of the woman walking with a cane,
who had a death wish for the Les-Casquets
in her casket; but she was between insane,
wasn’t she? She accepted, with it her cruelty,
and with it, her démence.
And I thought of this mysterious woman
only have existed, gone as a ghost.
© 2022 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.
Partially truth, partially fiction.