Breathes burning sugar and frozen memory,
pumps holiness through each of his cells
while the sun squeezes his behind
and crumples his spine
flips, flops, and rolls him back and forth
like a baker gone insane
slapping bread into crucified dreams of art.

His desert sky shines with goddesses

cooing clouds inside your ears

the air freezes with angels demanding

you stand up and glow like one true god.

Snakes in white tuxedos crawl rattling down your throat

and you shit poison for more days in hell

than you ever want to count again.

A dead butterfly makes love to your eyes

and you shiver semen wide across the wind’s wide naked tongue.

You are golden and rose like a beautiful ballet.

You are cold, demonic and hungry.

A storm gray and furious and white

is what your soul looks like

zooming in and out of your pitiful heart.

Look at her praying for you Miguel

and bleeding for you,  loving God for you and

swallowing the whole history of His pain for you.

Miguel upon the sand dunes of ecstasy and hell

imagines he is Walt Whitman

cut straight in half by the beauty of soldiers,

dreams he is Malcolm X and Gandhi bleeding justice

inside the syphilitic mouth of a nation.  

Believes he is ancient and Yoruban and female

splitting his body giving re-birth to his father,

provides comfort to ghosts fresh from their bones,

sets free the niggers in Alice Walker’s nightmare

and sings her demons into well-earned death.

Miguel burns godly and shamanistic, his chest

studded with rubies, mouth foaming diamonds,

three black owls pour feathers on his head

and he yells into the night:

“I insist unrelentingly upon sacred ecstasy

and I demand that Love should have its way

with all my Lord’s creation!”

Miguel walks hard-on bowlegged through the desert

shouting new light into this new sky

screaming loud Ezekiel’s name.

Prophets kiss his tears, laugh hallelujah,

            get him stoned on wine.

Saints wash his blood, they all sing “Amen, Amen,”

            tell Miguel to be quiet for a while.