Miggy Angel: from “Boy, Bestiary”

Northumberland Bestiary (Detail), 1250–60, courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program

 


Call me blood,

brother. Crouched

ogre gathers

 

forces together

under gangrenous

cover. Street

 

lamps glow

ochre. Never-Never

gonna Land

 

again, Peter

Pan of ruined

heirlooms. Nike

 

Hulk, nukes

sidewalk. Knuckles

coaxed and cocked,

 

ready to fist

fuck like Christ

did Judas. God

 

never gave us

the gun in our

mouths. God

 

is a gun

in the

mouth.

 


Burned boys learned by rote

to speak the white tundra

mantra of machismo and media

 

He taught us to sing. This

is it in the eve of its leavening, and

this is it leaving. This is it

 

returning again. And this

is the drought and the routed

field. This is the farm and this

 

is the pharmaceutical. This is god’s

will, and this is his little yellow

pill. This tablet is so ancient,

 

this fable is so fabulous. It says

the pill will help you fall. Will

help you watch the world burn.

 

It will decapitate the genitals, and

free you from the sensory

hell. Abandoned-building boy-body

 

tells another story.

 

 


Think catharsis

is a trick

of psychiatry,

 

a tricycle

with no wheels,

caterwauling

 

that mauls. It’s

what Tommy said

the first time

 

the knife goes in

is like, said

it’s the bluest

 

blue blooming

from the beloved’s

belly, relief

 

of intestines

and secrets.

Fluorescent

 

vomit and neon

putrefying

pavements.

 


Miggy Angel writes books and edits Burning House Press. Boy, Bestiary is forthcoming from Ice Floe Press, 2019.