O Bohemia

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.