Poems from The Journey to Kailash IV

/ Thursday, April 21st, 2011 / 6 Comments »

Bacchanal

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he traded his robe for a lab coat
its filthy tail
sweeps through oil-sheened mud
flaps with back alley lurch
spine hunched in huddled conspiracy
hooves split bleeding
a black bile wine
reeled everywhere on the tainted ley lines
blind husk heeds
the zombie century call
hopes the fix fixes all
hops the walls
prints trickle behind
rolled up sleeves reveal
the needle
tracks of self consumption
sore of entry throbs
purple jellyfish
hissing mob slithers behind
hollow-eyed         supermodel squad
anexoria hot         pop singer dirty
wilted parrot plumage
used-up Maenads
hunting for another Orpheus
no talent required         any orifice will do
pop’n’play in the master bedroom
to the music artery beat         mad-eyed
waif kneels curls fragile fingers
in the wool of His hips
boy        girl        no matter
liberate the libation
gunshots outside         the undead
can’t wait their turn
cultists sweating and trembling
in the Superdome
the worst of this generation
the best of this generation
bored to distraction
conjure Him          in the seedy glade
of tire ruts      beer cans      broken glass      hymens
clumsily torn
see the horns on his haggard head
glint in the headlights
of the pickup truck
sticks into snakes for everyone
curl them round your arm
to raise a vein
discover something new to do
for true           we’re all born again
grown on our fathers’ thighs
like a cancer





“Bacchanal” and accompanying reading first appeared online in Goblin Fruit, Issue 3, Autumn 2006. Copyright © 2006 by Mike Allen. Art: Detail from “Goat” by Francisco de Goya, 1820-23.

6 Comments

  1. Carma says:

    Strong. Great use of language.

  2. Alexa Seidel says:

    I love this one, strong, raw imagery that goes perfectly with your reinvention of a bacchanal.

  3. […] DESCENT INTO LIGHT Mike Allen's Home Page  « Poems from The Journey to Kailash IV  […]

  4. Jeff Minor says:

    Good one. I was hoping you would work in the word “dithyramb” some where. Maenads are always fun.

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