Nowhere When It Burns

                Out back two dogs fight
faces dripping wounds --
one a maelstrom of hope,
knotted cock useless,
throat a purse of blood --
it retreats but the winner
can't fuck either as the bitch
in heat is gathered, locked in,

                temperature 99 & climbing
swells and bursts snap peas,
green bladders ruptured
from white stem to black knob,
puff of smoky juice spat
from cobra-headed flowers:
I wonder where this heat coils
in my brain & if ice can reverse

                pressure before my skull splits,
steam whistling through the slit. I,
won't peep, your hands tremor
over shadow-boxed bric-a-brac;
your vooice a court siren. I am shriller
we lost everything from the sky down:
ha-ha from my trunk I pull not a body
but potting soil, urea nitrogen, pageant

                ryegrass. Keep your heirlooms:
grease-blurred pastorals, mauve-wrapped
floras, amethyst sashes & scarlet mosaics --
colors struck from drunk Linnaeus & whelk;
temperature 101 & climbing dips its claws
into the fuel drum of our love, flicks its silver
tongue consuming holly in a quiesceent Xanadu,
immolation the rooftop lesson's climax.

-- Fernand Roqueplan