When I Touch the Full Lip of Modernismo Literario

Kissing cancer and isolation and a mother age

Twenty three-kids and a dead-beat-dad who

Flees to Argentina to lily-livered handshakes

Limp fists of anemic intellectuals those

Who help whoever smiles laugh those who help

Buy the vendor the deprecated grammar of this

Poem and the needles in the superego of Jesus

Free I am the free triumph of the remote respite

Death I am the animal that won’t accept its death

True I am the silence of wine drenched letters that

Tell only lies and mayonnaise curdles in a kitchen

Smelling perhaps like a sacred name even a rabbi

Might misspell eyes less human than this poem
Something coarse and abnormal God never knew