eleanor

eleanor

you sea shell,
bent, tied and wind washed
in a shuffle of widows.

a paper nail, disposable,
transient and impermanent. heaving
like po-hens, peacocks and 
Trilbys, saccharin and mildewed,
spotless and red, like 
a hyphenated blood basin.

eleanor, by the beach bay,
hold sands and wing tides,
sonnets and peculiars of a montage of lies.
an alter-boy, dubiosity,
chagrin of fear, heart pounding and bouncing
every time you breathe, touch and pickle
in a Danish of afternoons.

wind crisp, fake lies,
negatives and love cries, racing
in commodity christ, lace jews,
pathetique and antiquary. in a vernacular
of rose puppets, chirping and burping
with AIDS and drugs, in argument of the war
1984, dairy and miscegenation. 

to undo a false reality, eleanor,
is to melt your foibles in alum, roast and tipple 
in comb sweat, a polish of banes. 
seven tales of moth rings, red songs and communism
lay, perhaps, in your bright fields. 
hopeful and fake, this artificiality.