Friday, November 11, 2016

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 marble. All facets of his dream-world—
voraciously prismatic—are kept in the book of tortures

with the vile bon-bons of his fancy
that 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.

Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Morning Poem 380


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