--- L E N N Y D E L L A R O C C A
Wearing gay costumes from Hebron, all the whores of Christianity slide down her throat with green worms in piss. She is, as they say, a freak of Easter. Pity. The iridescent soul of Amelia broadcasts huffs and groans over the radio to American troops in Laos. The Eiffel Tower shutters. "Kafka is a swollen arm," she says. A blue penny falls from Ringo's eye. "Fuck me," she says in German, "while Catherine of Siena turns estrogen into Hercules." Lined up outside the church are Communists and Zulus taking lithium. White people love sodomy. Prepubescent French girls. She motions to Netanyahu. Drums. Squalor. Lays down on the ottoman while mice dance beneath her dress. Fumes. There is a shadow the size of Philadelphia in her voice. And off in the distance: bellydancing, crucifixion.
© crossconnect 1995-1999
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania kelly writers house |