Saturday, April 18, 2020

Rituals XIV. By John Doyle


A sullen amen for scattered fruits
that leer in vine-yard sands,
Sesame-Street sunshine,
tarmac treacle-like on sneaker's soles
in Daly City -
a sighed glory be 
for the lost-side of Heaven 
I pee-shoot my simple prayers to;
I bite before I get bitten -
therefore I am.
I raise my thumb
like veterans in closing tv sequences
from the mid 1980s when America
stopped fetishizing that war;
a car pulls in - arachnid posture,
tattooed bare-knuckled boy
that music leaves another man to sing about.
I've found a new muse,
I'll keep it sealed under lock and sun-dried lip,
this, my beautiful America, is the new curriculum  





John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.


He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.

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