Queen Little Battle
I called her
though I don’t have
that far to go
before her entangling
antlers left
no marks
their spreading
jive but an embryonic
death-ache shadow of
my downstairs left cheek
subliminal concussive
tradition slows pitter-patter
runoff eschewing gleaning
sentiment weaponized as
thrust bespoke complication’s
surge forking
lie by night hymns’ lightning
power, O Bohemia!
You left me last
late at night.
O Bohemia!
Your diet was
celery stalks, I grew
flat on your bread.
O Bohemia!
Burnt up
‘neath leathery totems,
listenin’ little.
O Bohemia!
The odors
were thick; Lysol perfumed
countless in grime.
O Bohemia!
Where did you
ride my train
smoking on that hot summer morning?
O Bohemia!
When I
just had a heart
to start it over again.