My Eyes in the Time of Apparition

Curse the steady mice who feast upon
____________my son’s gray matter—

__________________those soft purveyors of wickedness,
____________mutilators of my womb,
______mutilators of an empty chapel.

Praise the sirens of widening synapses,
______who beckoned my boy to fall,
____________then drift, upstream

__________________to sleep without song & awaken
_______________________savant: a piano angel hypnotist,
__________________miracle hands
____________fraught with confessions,
______their ivory lament.

Blessings to this illness that sutures mother
____________to daughter to son and back.
__________________Bless sorrow’s commitment
_______________________to reincarnate—an infant’s
__________________familiar arrival—a cold boy
____________sprung from the witch’s head.

Curse America & its willful gatherers
____________of foul seed & excess, castrators
__________________of dreams, vengeful shepherds
_______________________of paranoia. Curse you curators
__________________of shame,
____________of ridicule, of my eager impermanence.

Praise the mayhem of my prefrontal cortex—
____________psycho bitch brain fluke,
__________________most divine imaginer!
_______________________Praise my eyes in the time
____________of apparition, each heretic winter,

______as my teeth spark, igniting
the darkening litany of genetics
____________& growl: Let me be what I am.