WHAT I DO I CANNOT SEE
I Cannot See

I. Before Christ,

I tend darling red cattle in silver-frothed sea.
Firefly eyes burn nights staring at me.
They squeal to red pointed ears.

Geryon, you have eaten me, digested,
dropped me between Floyds Knobs
and flat Indiana.

Why did you bring me here?
Everything is so damned green.

II. Meanwhile In Heaven,

an argument.
God sees red-headed Sarai
through cloudy floor.
Archangel points to Indiana,
crosses arms and flattens wings.
After waiting days
in doorways,
God sends butterflies.

III. Last Supper,

Geryon crunches red cattle meat
salted with turbulent, buttery
fired-flies. His three heads
knock like Queen Anne's Lace
bursting

Callirrhoe weeps
trails for gravel roads.
Ditches filled with butter-white weeds
river down Knobs.

IV. A Plagued Embryo

God spits into Mother's concrete
womb miscarries five times.
Battling birth, I tremble.

V. Bedeviled

black angus roam
rolling Knobs.

I attract eyes of dragonfly-

His fingers gulp me
plunge into grass-stained canal lips
molest mosquito breasts.

I draw inside myself,
scribble temple walls
etched with nails.

Finally,
I pull-out corn knife, hack
and hack his chest.

VI. Sarah Bawls

seeing God's back
one foot from eternity.

Archangel stains Sarah,
and steals the only secret
people keep.

Willow trees bend
grieving heaven's lift.

VII. A Winged Victory,

I age beautifully.

Chaffin Journal, 2003