I summon the hormonal struggle
to its skidded knees
dirty and chain smoking
on a bed of flood,
one that cannot be denied
one that fights for your slumber.

I summon the hormonal struggle
to the floor
kiss with chapped lips
the essence of tile
cold and mosaic
crystal
and dirty trollops
stuck to teeth.

I summon the hormonal struggle
to a single bang of the gong
in an empty room
of yellow tall ceilings

I summon the hormonal
struggle to the dome
I summon the repartitions of chemicals
and brain cells
from my bag of tricks
to the stars, where they’ll remain.

your Christ has come for a dance
of wine and myrrh
your Christ has come to be baptized
in your womb
where he swims dormant to time
until you dictate the chronological
be born

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