The Love Song of L. Harvey Oswald
or
Lee’s Bra
The bra lee was trapped in
fat fate, Wineverettgate
the American malaise, Ulysses’ gaze
as he pulled the snorting horses of the sea . . .
A maiden formed solely for fucking
a turkey to be plucked and stuffed
lifting and separating him from the world
and dropping him into the world inside the world
where everything is pushed and shaped
where nothing is what it seems to be
where appearances range from deceit to complete falsehood
nursed at marguerite’s sallow breast
in the shadow of an absent father
pummeled by northern boys, confirmed in a room inside the hole in the wall of raskolnikov’s room
or was he a three-room apartment?
lost, he’s found and made
prop for a movie which will end with a nice explosion
of obfuscation
or in the dead god land of dallas where high school students don’t know what happened yesterday, and could not care less about what will happen tomorrow--
l. Harvey was shat out on the hot summer pavement of america
beside two bubbling eggs
that looked like fried breasts
and when he turned to nurse
the ear muffs fell
but didn’t he buy the books
and speak the speech
and shape the pattern
and will the bullets through the air?
And how do you like your blue-eyed boy?
