pistol priest

i want a dance that destroys the dancer
as if he is wrapped in barbed wire and as he spins
he is gently shredded, unraveled like a piece of
yarn or a piece of clothe or a young smile
stopped at the corners of a mouth
as a bud. cut as he dances

i want air like a razor, a song like a knife
an imagination that limits heaven to a smile

imagine that as i dance my legs unravel
around you. around this silence
and religion people, like so many
beings i know. i want this dance.

i want it in me like a mountain
down by the roadway railway
in my churches vestibule
i place my hands on your head
and you fall down a foot
and your hair is smooth as silver
the shaft of a gun.

imagine that this flower peels me
each time i see you are older
and i am more and more gone

each time i see you my mouth is heavy
with my dissipation and the dance in me
is a spiral, the hand on me pushes me in
a circle rasping, be healed! be healed
but you are but a broken creature
telling me about healing?

i feel your pistol well you bastard.