Virginia Reston


lily faces fucking in liquid phonemes,

across the roomy universe

gloom and doom prophet-bed;

fondling spheres,

the frozen lungs and bleeding hearts dabble mama, dabble papa

into starlight, covering the spaces

in between world peace and world piece –

paper currency phalluses

blowing ‘bout steel girders, stolen girdles;


in liquid phonemes, replication

plucks the pricks

out of the bos taurus mess; pasiphaë,

butch and postmodern in canadian flannel jacket-shit,

breeds them thick, breeds them bull

markets. converging into the thick-thighed flannel queen

along piss-poor parisian hurdy-gurdy canal clutter,

the little ‘pataphysician stares in absinthe stupor,

casting six-shooters in gunmetal soul,

red-hot hip-hop letters. everywhere, lily faces fucking


into the wham-bam

geoid craze, linking, linking the stinking

fingers of marxist cabbage-eaters

across america; honkeys killing hillbillies

killing crackers killing the paleface dream of white picket fences

and white picket lines; pickaninny prison throwback,

spectral and searing into

the dark side of the earth, turned but never turning –

burnt, but never burning. wham-bam bleeding geoid

heart, northern irish shit ditch planet,

covers childrens’ faces in

oneiroi toenails, gloom and doom prophet-bed prayers

growing cellular, growing ingrown

in childrens’ faces; spitting

fake false prophets, so surrogate to imagination

that the blood’s still blue.


oxygen angel, bleed me red like aristarchus;

bleed me red like luther’s stolen nails

nailing on doors paper Christ catholic, catholic adjectival

and gathering in two or more in names of God;

bleed me red like galileo, watching star

and soil. sweep over me, babylon, regalia in

your blue genitalia, lapis lazuli

wedged so integral into your ovaries,

knowing – israel’s knowing –

burns caramel faces star-white,

whiter than we were meant to know: plasma white into

a palmless jerusalem, a palmless oblivion: creeping blank,

and no more is the clitoris art.

sweep over me, sweptover babylon,


faceless fucker.

and the poets don’t agree,

but the weeping willows scrawl their carbon

eyelids open

into ripples of lakes manmade, madmen willows

carving into tides the tongue of lear’s fool;

cordelia or cracker, the rich bitch articulate

spoke the wind onto the water to say

what’s beauty – mummer beauty lit up

in chaos, holy chaos, screaming chaos

into the infinite logos above –

and what’s just dick-waving.

let them write and let them, like their dreams,

flail like frail goldfish

into the neverdeath and God – where fails

white and black, where fails all spectrums.

and the poets don’t agree,

but no one else listens to severed tongues

in godly reverence and

makes reliquaries of the egg and foreskin

of our adam’s kin.


ashen adam is but the prick,

ember eve is but the vagina; melodious sex

trips down the stairs to

bones’ snap and orgasms,

woven in tapestries of ionic beauty,

and nothing survives the fall

but ionic souls, tethered in bands and

electrons – and delogocentric do

the capillary lips, carbon and disappointing,

caress the hair, the eyelid, the nose, the chin, the throat, the shoulder, the chest;

carbon and disappointing, the wordless waves

resonate to lacquer skin and neuron to the

electric soul. and prophet-speech

resonates on soil and skull, state and tongue,

lacquering life onto this blushless rock –

irony gives love words when love is a music silent.


stones to resonate the oceans’ sound:

babylon, jerusalem; roma, beijing; medina, dublin:

turn whilst turning; burn whilst burning.


Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790