NO HEAD OF GILLES DE RAIS

He has absolutely no skill in defending himself. He moves about violently from one impulse to another, which destroys him.

I insist: this is a child.

But this child had at his disposal a fortune that appeared inexhaustible to him and nearly absolute power.

                                    --Georges Bataille, The Trial of Gilles de Rais

We will never see the satanic head or eye

of Gilles de Rais made fabulous in paint

or carving. All facets of his dream-world—

voraciously prismatic—are kept in the book of tortures

the vile bon-bons of his fancy

fell from his brain, to pulsate on his tongue,

wherever chapel boys swelled with song

in Champtocé, La Suze, Tiffauges, Machecoul.

Gilles derived from a long line

of war-lords

and rabbit-faced prodigies.

At his trial at Nantes he doubted not

to be convicted, then burnt, by temporal authorities

but nor to be forgiven by the Church,
which owed him much

& whose children he had raped and devoured

rejoicing

wherever chapel boys swelled with song,

in Champtocé, La Suze, Tiffauges, Machecoul.

Morning Poem 380 (Chet Baker)

fuck me that turnip is going to be president

of this shit

!

I am listening to Chet Baker just trying stay sane

tranquilize me Chet just enfold me

a little, in your gentleness

as if to say ‘Thomas,

you may be wrong about this’

Chet plays it cool

‘My Funny Valentine’ is sad

and cool on my forehead

maybe the fucking turnip

will be cool

maybe my head will make the

adjustment, the necessary reversion

to how things obtained

in my fascist years

(thanks, old friend,

for sticking with me through my fascist years)

when I too was a bloated, ignorant bitch-boy

who felt free, and happy just

to rock, to barf, to kill

in the metropolis

Chet you toothless junkie

get me out of this

11/2/2016