Death’s Head HawkMoth

(1983) “To be haunted by a ghost

Is to remember something you’ve never lived through,”

But who do they know are/are not my friends?

I expect the night sky to be full of catamenia/

Forests full of bears.

To rub the shiny sides of ivy/metatarsals

On my inner thighs, it’s grease

Smeared/sneered becomes serum sacs that I burst with teeth

To escape intimate specters/spectators and.

I’d like to be the boy of a Death’s-head Hawkmoth.

A nice fat yellow one/one

Whose elliptical mouse squeaking will guide me across Styx to

Confront/conquer/raid the hives,

To nectar/to steal.

I will sing/do little dance but you advise,

“Click click click/squeak squeak click click,”

And the universe was understood.

When I die promise me I’ll get you too and.

When they rub your body/my headstone, will

It look yellow /red/fade to black?

For now I’m bowing on the bed, on this

Silken/quilt exhaling/veil to bathe/to weep/

Come burrow in the headlights to finally get

Sutures/sleep/to sleep perchance too.