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.