Poem # 16

As I speak,  I put on  my armour.  Slowly grease  these legs  fitted

with raven  elastic  garters. After this,  I don  my namesake,

Marie Madeline,  milk leather  harness belt  with O-ring  hardware

& studded  rivet  collar.  On this  comely head  I set  my helmet,

with a crest  of boar-hair  that nods  caressingly  above it.

Pace Iona  Beach. Industrial waste, shit, beauty,  airport.

Standing with  mausers pointing at  it. I  express  worry,

The feeling of  spontaneous expression. Pseudo humphouse  makes it

known. Then as my cage  skirt ebbs  the life  out of me,  it answers,

it is not  a secret, no matter  the bluff.  Now, don’t fuck  it up.