Poem I wrote while my other hand-eye read Jean Genet

from jg
that squealer queerer
answerer ghoul birdfaced,
buffoon of quandaries
from soul-brigade
that rat,
that squanderer
hides-squeezing a sphinx into dark
invisibility his ass
 a conjurer of mysteries
he is equal to
a bird that eats carrion fish
sings carrion
fish from boats of Barbary lined with
white walls of prisons
guarding the sea from the thieves who would steal turquoise
cannon birds, noble swine and turquoise stone
are not meant to be eaten
by the laws
of the priests who pray law into sunlit air
of dead crossroads
hoodlums’ holy halakha

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