The Mourning After

I lost my virginity in the age of innocence.
 
            Worthy is the lamb, who was slain.

In the fake, gilded age of Trump

loathsome words bleed from 45’s mouth
oblivious to the collateral damage.

            And when you’re a star, you can do anything—

            grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.

Nightmares revisit my dreams

evolve into wide-awake
out-of-the-blue triggers.

            If Ivanka weren’t my daughter…

I watch Kill Bill—read a Vachss novel

detachment being key
to amputating anger.

            Such a nasty woman.

Shunning invasive images, I turn

to focus on strands of moonlight
weaving through venetian blinds.


leh