for Joyelle McSweeney and everyone


I channeled    the angel   that thunders   your chambers   this morning   I channeled    the Heron    the hulking   behemoth    that spreads you     that taps at    your spine like     a doctor     a doctor     of poetry     splitting you     cracking you open I held you    your body    of knowledge    the contents come spilling    your perfect bound     spine with a laminate    call number stamped     like a tramp at the base     at the militant base     I practice my targetry     target my malpractice    doctorate poetry    target the Heron    the angel petroleum    soaking I channeled the tar get       it off me    spilling    your perfect     chambers   channeled     morning    I channeled    the joy    of your oil spill    cracking you open   O         pen        I held you     an offering       wash it if it must      be drowned       no more      A little    World    an offering   O   But O    But O     it must    be burnt!     Deer Godmother     Mother of God    Shaman entrusted the charge of my depths      the charge of my spiritual guidance         your duty to see that I don’t worship death      but that death is the war ship    I blow out    I channel     the sky aspiring angel     the sexually star hungry burn victim candidate     Heron     whose wingspan could blot out the heavens    whose flammable crude      oil wingspan eclipses the night      Godmother   I lift my voice like a steeple impaling the thunder with gaiety     baffling    singing my perfect bound songing    with ecstasy baffling         for Angela    copying ten codes      Julia    hands in the impotent soil    for Dustan and Betsy    Matthew and Stephanie     Sarah and Katie    Jenetta    for Peggy    for Thelma    for Frank and his blown out steel mill knees    for Sandra and her blown out social work knees    for Nick and Carly   for Gabe and Jamie    for Matt and the scars that run the arms length down Bethany             for you, my Godson       for you I channel the angel that thunders your chambers this morning        lover of beasts       who eat diesel     child who distinguishes     the front loader     from the excavator         the bulldozer   from the semi   from the pickup   from the garbage truck   for you     lover of deconstruction   I pray thee   my Master this morrow     even the Master of the spill that drowns an ocean     Master of the ocean darker than night     annointeth my head with oil    thou Barron    runneth my drilling rig over     and over and    Burn me    O Lord   that I might crackle to your pleasing     that my light might guide my charge through the darkness      that I might    be a star    the world        to love.




Nick Demske lives in Racine Wisconsin and is a children’s librarian at the Racine Public Library.  He is the author of a self-titled book which was chosen by Joyelle McSweeney for the 2010 Fence Modern Poets Series prize.  He is also the author of a chapbook called “Skeetly Deetly Deet” (Strange Cage Press).  He wants to start a group of hands-on faith healers called “The Doctors.”  So we’ll see what goes down with that.



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  1. Pingback: Table of Contents, Issue 13 | Matter

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