(this poem is called "Ejaculation Prayer" in the book Five Prayers)
The sun & me, booty-hunters on a merry sea, & finally free,
No longer solitarily
Smoking on the Jolly Roger, pacing the fo'c's'le & surveying the expansive galaxy.
Together alone, with Henry Waxman as our sugary daddy,
Pale faces smiling gladly,
We're on a motherloving boat, sailing towards an infinite holiday.
The sun & me, booty-hunters on a merry sea, winner of hell's lotteries,
Which we spent all at once.
When he was an infant, his nurse thought his father wanted him signed up for infant pilates,
Now the sun's a pirate's apprentice, tennis on the poop deck, love letters in the furnace,
Victims of tasteless puns,
The seven seas' dreadful menace:
Now the sun's a dreadful awe-shocking uncircumcised terror, liberated as the houris.
The sun & me, booty-hunters on a merry sea, the new Jerusalem
Comes down wearily,
Norma Jean left behind in Damascus, like slaves in rhythm to the kettle-drum,
James Dean stoned to death by Thracians, & woship him that made the heavens, the earths, & the seas.
Stage seven, from births to disease,
The mansion is also a hospital & sanitarium, please pray we remembered our keys.
The sun & me, booty-hunters on a merry sea, boiling the five oceans,
Deforesting the coral,
What are you? a liquid dream, a cocktail, or one of Professor Snape's potions?
What are you? our human marriage is like a roofie slipped in Lake Baikal
With its own fecal moral.
What are you? I recall
That you were the Jonah with a peace-pipe blow-hole, I seem to recall.
The sun & me, booty-hunters on a merry sea, rest your goose nipples,
Children, & go to bed.
The sun & me, we believe in treasure, we believe our ship's wake is Jesus Christ's ripples.
We will eat insects. We will wear linen bonnets upon our heads.
And never departed,
With myrrh & incense,
Children, & dream of the future of money, sail to space from your beds.