Fucking the Hero

Drinking Tequilla from the bottle
   in a ditch off Narrow Lane
drunk through the orbs and ivories
   pissing on a window pane
                        unfamilar; unsound

but a poet breaking glass
   among graffiti ghosts
politics and personal loves shoulder buffets
   in his praise; he screams at the host
                         in his praise; he phenes for most

of what we cannot see, touch nor forever understand
   he is the father, the mother, the ancestor
        a superman

Insane and beligerent; he peeps at our city walls
   spies on taxi tourists and blank, humble girls
bedazzled in the pisspot of emptiness in the middle of downtown
   he is the party clown, the caged ape, the Holy Martyr
                           He kissed Doris Day; held Sinatra's coat

Tripping over Greyhound stations
   choking on the city's haste
coughing from young fumes
   and learning a soldiers place
                            a fable; an odd in our bliss

We are demerol babies, and he is a god; The open sea...
   he fucked Posiedon, Zeus and James Dean
       exhausted and cursed

He is speaking in tongues to an invisible microphone
   talking to himself again
a blister in the sun
   we grin; while he cools himself with his own urine
                              he laughs with no mercy

Time...
   time is gone
the country sleeps in endless sperm
   Ignorance is born
                     and he never sleeps