Frockless Nuns Of Dereliction Poem by Michael Ó Domhnaill

1

Solitude, my frockless nun
invited my trance lace
To cover her bosom of earth…
To Close the fireplace.
(A leap may be unconsummated)

Tetch my head- Make a current.
Troll in unexpected.
Catch the act as it's at its end.

I don't feel as though I'm acting,
through the entirety of my
untoward, firetwilit time.

Spasm after spasm defiles your elegie
Defrocked, your present flesh nondelineable.
You upstage my death act.

When I act my disembowelment for you
It only looks like I'm masturbating.

The bronze gargoyles ogle
over both you and my
tumescent surlily spent
tube of spongeflesh.

There is such well bred
abundance in your flesh.
I feel I could subsume myself
in its ample milkdrenched tome.

It's a shame you didn't cleave
the green curtain sooner.
You could have embedded me
in the sweeping round plateaus of torso.
I'd have left an ecstatic indentation.

When it looks like I'm fumbling with my balls
it's actually self decapitation:

And may my head be not flaterrer,
My sheathless, blonde
(one stanza)

and wholesomely sloughed
to gather, holy
bare sister solitude.


II

I sit in the red brick kiosk.
The cherubs arrive by gray sedan.
The ladies' souls emit their musk.
The fog makes the air luminous;
My blood running tepid and wan.

Josephine died on a night similar
to this; The East river eels
dance in her eye sockets. Leaves
soaked to their base elements
coating the sidewalk= Gadbethanxed
They're beyond care.

I was a priestly lech.
I leched through the still, stagnant summer
Until I fell, silent upon my crutch.
From a wire spanning this lumed valley,
I was nearly strung.

I was wretched with distended gut,
through summer's flatulence, autumn's fertile rot.
My lentin loins anguished, I languished
in a dank rut, the voices murmured their flaccid smut.

As the days roared through their torpor,
The heat oozed through me anarchistically.
My many friends fond of my head
carved their subliminal messages of lust
on the crust of my skull.

The absolution flowed with
my seeded entreaty to her:
To renounce all who came before
and accept my host and vessel, tossed and listing.

In the summer before, that bestial hierarchy:
Those who live on stagnant purple blood
Sang on anime actus; condemned my and
her frissonic low, dark in churning stinging spout.
I rended my frock in the midst of flood.