Memory Babe Again

by Peter Magliocco

Now that you are one with the devil
& the morning graces are but an eye-shadow
to smear away from pale afternoons,
won't you see your dull follower
waiting -- the stealer of secrets
behind your mind's foyer -- praying
for you to open your bottled affections
& water the vines of mourning:
dappled slave hearts from ex-lovers,
nipples, nails, hairs all like left-overs
from the forgotten sexual feasts,
the pale virgin's dried innards
old carnal bishops bestowed
as part of your legacy, & how
you laughed at infuriated bureaucrats
giving you tax breaks among these
amenities you felt entitled to,
the way no one's life compared
to your own, the way we loved being
in the category of has-beens?