in december

It was 95 degrees
And the brilliant blues and radiant reds were bleeding
From billboards and graffiti-stained alleyways.
I was searching for a used sedan
With low mileage and pristine plastic
And that new factory smell.
The hood ornaments glistened like chrome plated saviors
Planted in metal and crucified for consumers
Prepared to lead drivers down the predawn highways of desolation
And into the horizons of redemption and reclamation.

It was 95 degrees
And I was searching for a used sedan
But I found her --
She said her name was Shelly
And she looked like an ornament of salvation --
My menstruating Christ
And she looked like an ornament clinging to the artificial
Limbs of indoor trees in December.
She was a Christmas light
Blinking
Flashing
Blinking
And her brilliant blues and radiant reds were bleeding --
She was a victim of the stars.

"Get in the car, baby.
Let's go for a ride and hide from the artificial
And that god damn sun.
We'll have a countryside road kill romance
And we'll fuck in the backseat
In the backseat on refurbished upholstery."
"Take me," her words.
"Take me," were mine.

I drove out of the city
Away from the crystal skyscrapers and bleeding billboards.
I drove out of the city
And into the countryside of wildflowers and withering stalks
Searching for seclusion --
A site for our bodies to scream and receive
A sweet and unholy benediction.
The backseat was our carriage
A temporary womb
Where we would slither and swim
And discover our bodies and the flesh
And she was a Christmas light
Blinking
Flashing
Blinking
And I captured her in the rearview mirror
Rising from my body
Sinking into my skin.
Organs of the sex
Coalesced
And her flesh
Tasted like artificial fragrances tested on animals
And her lips
Were red, chapped from licking in the wind
And her vagina
Was an impeccable wound
That I dressed with immaculate movements
And complimentary remarks.

She was locked inside the rearview mirror
Flesh ascending from flesh
The muscles and the fat
The skin and the bones
The eating disorders and supermarket tabloid complexes
Her eyes were blank
Like arcades out of order
And she was a Christmas light
Blinking
Flashing
Blinking
Taking
And
Draining ...
Me.
Her chapped lips graced my scarred chest
My neck
My lips
And she climbed out of our carriage --
A stale and broken womb --
And disappeared
Into the wildflowers and withering stalks.

She was my menstruating Christ
Dry and out of season
Gone and out of grasp.
Her taste lingers and clings
To my tongue
Like flashing lights on artificial trees
In December.

xx