Reaction to Reactions
In the streets outside my walls Through the city of the silenced cathedral Women sport flower shaped scars The last gifts of blasted kimonos. The air of this valley Is a lens held by the camera of God That inspects me, That inspects you, That inspects the women, Their children, Their men That cups us in the hand of God Some to perish naked in the light. I have become addicted to "I Love Lucy" So that I am glued to the floor of my dingy space by the CRT Which is pregnant with Lucy and shadows of Lucy That fission like amoebas around her, That dance around her like polliwogs in a Todtentanz on a slide So that snow of their tracks splotches Lucy, So that fallout peppers Lucy's silhouette to ash, So that Lucy's voice is the hiss of my tinitis. I keep hoping that a coat hanger on the rabbit ears will improve my perception But I must wear tinfoil on my head to filter out unwanted alien speech Even after the plane flies on by. The pilot has gone out on the stove, Its black is quiet: hissing, spitting, whispering. The horrible Frigidaire sparks.