Alex S. Johnson "Blues for Lucifer"

 

The moon yawns like an old

cat, swallowing imaginary mice

They're stars, or what comes first,

soldiers in the stellar wars

Spring seeds sink beneath her golden temple, sprout eternally in her

Jade eyes. The monuments stand,

thrown forward as though jet-shouldered, with marble limbs

Dancing like the pattern rain makes

on her window. It is

Summer now, and she misses him

terribly, his dark wit even his

Or especially his

Savage manner with the houseguest who

Would not shut up and stank of stale cigarettes and beer while holding forth in the

Living room on Schopenhauer and Beethoven the

Whole wide world of know-nothing ambassadors who arrive in evening dress, spies gliding like hydroplanes

Along the surface of a conversation, ears

Alert as an insect's antenna assembly

For the false note, the leaking code that

Drips

Drops

Drips

From loosely drunken

Lips there remain terrible

Domains where no light enters and

Interrogation is the order of the

Day we sponsor a mindless and

Brutalist discourse.

Time slams us with his meaty

brickfists for champions.

Holler when you're out of

the bathroom my dear your

Photograph from the golf

Tournament still sits on the

Shelf where you left it last you

When you

I'm so sorry, I should have realized

I'm so sorry, this weight on my chest will not

Exhume

contest

Object...

Alex S. Johnson is an award-winning, critically-acclaimed dark satire, science fiction, fantasy and erotica author, journalist, editor, artist and publisher. Two of his books, SKULL VINYL: POEMS 2012-2017 and THE DOOM HIPPIES are in the circulating collection of the Widener Library at Harvard University. Johnson attempts to be compassionate and forgiving of his fellow humans but finds the task extremely challenging. He lives in Carmichael, California with his family.