Death of Aquarius
I once knew a man who made lists.
He kept them in a galvanized pail.
Because he had no legs
He thought himself immortal.
Until he died.
You remind me of him.
You have never lived
Except in fear.
Immobilized by your careful life.
In sackcloth garments,
Worn by righteous robots
To cover their nakedness,
For having tasted temptation.
In recurrent dreams of denial;
While I remain unlettered and morose,
Repelled by the screeching and grinding
Of your unlubricated gears,
As you shed teeth and print another list.
Your re-programmed fantasies
Of decaying desperation.
Consoled by my rusted bucket of passions;
Leaking the bitter blood of hard luck angels
Marinating in my melancholia.
Carnal recollections returned to the stars
For a final blessing.