The Lonesome Death of H. Crane

The Lonesome Death of H. Crane

by Janet Hamill


i

The dawn was revealing his chest
like a land-locked sailor
over the ruins
of the pyramid of the sun

I wished he’d rain
like a heaven of alcohol
into my face
tightening like the skin on a drum
in a mirror over the bar
dissolving into a round of lacerating
light cut like a splinter of shot glass
into my heart’s
muscle of thirst

Spleen for a flask of tequila

Eagle of Mesquil

Your nights were a hell of cantinas
searching the soul of a serpent
coiling the ground of the dawn
like a prostitute
spilling the earth with a urine
of cigarette butts and beer
under a table
baptizing my face
with a shower
of pristiline star-shattered nerves

Oh Mexico
how you betrayed me
I hurl a glass into the side
of your sun-splashed murals of democracy
decaying visions
of inebriated seers

Serape of Quetzacoatl

You’re wrapped around me with the warmth of a cobalt dragon
on days rising like predatory mist
over jungles full of copulating birds
my mind racing
like a thoroughbred horse’s head in flames
through a field of discarded bottles
the apocalyptic jockey
winking an eye at the sun

ii

And now
let the ship swing further
into the gulf stream’s
warm water of Caribbean lush

The days of the roaring boy are done

I’m ready for death
like a patient in my pajamas
to dive like a dolphin into the sea
breaking light
like a splinter of shot glass
into the mouth
of a hungry white shark

And let them comb the sea like scavengers
for the bones of my land-locked wings


© 1975, Janet Hamill (from Troublante)