IN HEAVEN EVEN DEATH SMELLS LIKE SEX

i recently told a
friend that all kafka
ever really wanted was
a pony

he said
death was a silly word
like tongue like rose
like bone like dreams

i told him that
if you look for
the worst in angels
then miracles are all
around you

you just have to
be willing to abduct
the holy spirit if
you’re going to hope
for political change

the prayers of the
dead require an active
imagination that’s why they
keep jesus chained up in
the basement of heaven
with only some wafers
a little holy water and
a flask of cheap
dago red where he
and mike huckabee have
been planning his escape
since before the crucifixion

so i ask what
song do the dead sing
to their children?

i want to say
like the devil i too
dream of ponies eating
sunflowers in the fields
of hell

that my song offers shade
to the magic of
ghost children

in this land america
home of the brave
where death feels like
a second language but
i can’t find the words

words like love have
become a silly notion
they have become the
muffled currency of outlaws
like tongue like rose
like bone like dreams
we pray every night
in hopes of stealing
their music this land
is your land

i find little need for
a salvation army to
march with the dead

JOHN DORSEY currently resides in Toledo, OH. He is the author of several poetry collections including "harvey keitel,harvey keitel,harvey keitel" with S.A.Griffin and Scott Wannberg, Butcher Shop Press/Rose of Sharon Press/Temple of Man, 2005. He can be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com