UNTITLED/YOU ARE FIRE

You are fire your dress is fire . . .
. . . like an everlasting flower unsoiled
–Sayat Nova

From sky she came
perched our wrestling ring,
in a Tito’s t-shirt
a cigarette burn
at the block party, she
had a Lohan holiness
in clown shoes.

Escaped Lazarus, incestuous
brother w/ cracked ankles &
a lost dog—Religious, Supple,
she carried stringed wands for instrument,
narcotics, her American spiral dance.

The Vikings never got her though,
she’d told us, they’ll get you
threatened us with her scolding
reshaping her children of G.

Our Lady! Queen! Bowing low and drugged,
we ask for your blessing,
your virgin fuck
in Christ-dress
Lavinian wrists

Next day I fasted,
her scent on my fingers.