The Chef is my Boyfriend

I.  Amuse Bouche

I am a knothole
Spraypainted pink stripe crunchslammed overhead
Motherfucking goddamned son of a bitch dogshit
Treads gummed maggots in Twinkies
Screaming welds stamped breathless cancers
Each root singly methodically sadistically ripped from my
living skull
Before my eyes would hear again.

II.  Appetizer

I packed red handfuls of the fluffiest, whitest, sparklingest,
iciest snow I could find into my vagina
And waited for strangely silver rivulets to course down
my naked thighs and bare ankles
Splashing the splintery timbers of my homicidal back porch
In a pathetically transparent pantomimed simulacrum of
sorrow.

III.  First Intermezzo

Mirrored sunlight shafts ricochet a goateed mistake
I named her Magic for my alma mater
And hung curtains everywhere cold
Sounding hunters checked gold leaved bullets
To chimneys for atmosphere.

IV.  Entree

Etched palely into the underside of the arm of the white
plastic chair on the blue tarp over the suffocating native
plants in my backyard were the numbers I needed to
conclude my theorem for my doctorate for which I’d
yearned for years if only they were presented in order.

For extra credit I took a seminar on love, where cockroaches posed as angel’s wings and vise grips masqueraded as feminist forget-me-nots but when I swung from the rafters, focused only on the gentle white part of her sweet scalp, I finally slept in peace.

V.  Second Intermezzo

Cones blinked stacked underfoot the substation
Where she waited for me on the other bank
Wearing nothing but bricks and climate changing miracles
To think I was born and died just like that
A tea kettle, calendar of events, my mother’s antique metal
breadbox
The machine works
Thimbles of accidents.

VI.  Dessert

I stand wedged between on and off like strides attending
climbing wall marathons and triangle for her with the
ejaculation of a fire extinguisher a banana flavored caterpillar
killer.

VII.  Coffee

She never comes.  I am attracted to billboard televisions
glittering the pain and suffering of ephemera.