mucinex, vaseline, and tampons
can you guess what demon I am summoning today?
No, not the pervy Baphomet seeking to impregnate
every bar queen ever to make a pit stop
at the altar of Magnum
I am making a wicker man
of cotton balls and guaifenesin
and glitter glue
to burn away this haunting
of coupon slips that never seem to add up
to more than seventy five cents of the retail total
of a babe caught
in the trafficked chutes and ladders
children’s mayhem
leaves my livelihood
nothing more than convenient store nanny
gotta summon demons
to fight demons
and I’m not afraid to use receipt slips
as papyrus scrolls
to request the aid of Babylonian horrors
to make me a ward
a shroud against broken letters
which rain down
on those of us helpless enough to try
reeling in a living
in the midst of this bloody Nile
the flotsam
of deposit slips surge by like a watery omens
an emblem of time spent
hoarding roasted dollars
never to be tasted
starlight
deflated of breath
you are the doom
at this drugstore crossroads
before Cerebus comes to call for his nine to five
buffet at your confessional
or his sunday sacrifice
This Hades likes to think no one
whispers of him to the White House Muse
She knows he’s buying the skirt out from around her thighs
but a girl has a right to bitch, doesn’t she?
you can only steal Persephone so many times
before we open our eyes to see
Wallstreet Demeter, hanging limp
from the platform of the infernal marquee
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