I have chosen
this passion,
this obscene love.

The cruel God in my heart
has made
a home in my lust.

I make him
jealous by making love
to moonlit paper lanterns,
drifting along
the shoreline
of the deceased.

I feel the sweat dripping
off bloated stars
that tremble
under blackness.

I taste the mouth
of kerosene angels
which hang
like strangled piñatas
from crippled trees.

I suck the cruel
venom from virgin
autumn leaves.

I finger the lotus flower
that squats
in the dirty pond.

I appreciate
its cheating
heart because it
cups the soft
breast of the frog
that’s proof nature
is my whore.



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