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Gandhi.
    Give me the great Bolognese painter Morandi.
    Give me stout-hearted men of their severe purity,
    Saints who don’t have sex who constitute a threat to Homeland Security.
    Her posterior is superior. I thank it. I spank it.
    Her hair down there is my bib, my crib, my security blanket.
    When there’s this much chiming rhyming, check around you, look behind you.
    Behind you—and it defined you—
    You sat in the corner eating hair pie,
    And you lifted your head and said, What a good boy am I.

CUNNILINGUS
    The recently reopened Great Lawn seemed
    Too green to use and was.
    They roped it off again.
    It was too young.
    The grass was greener on the other side.
    Not ready to be eight baseball fields.
    I wanted to get down on my hands and knees and eat grass
    Like a beast.
    Not ready to have the pope
    Pray in front of five hundred thousand.
    Out of respect
    For Her Holiness, I took my shoes off.
    You were my outlook and my prosody.
    You were the call to prayer five times a day.
    You were the be-all and end-all of a forehead pressed to the floor.
    You made me take my shoes off to protect your new floors.
    Five hundred thousand tuchuses
    With faces, with tongues out
    To receive communion, were your humble servant me
    Swaying in your palm-tree breeze.
    You were my sound track.
    You were my sound check.
    I heard the muezzin summoning my forehead callus
    To the mosque.
    Obama is my president.
    Too much is almost enough at the end of a life.
    I am aware that my dark hair could be dyed.
    My face is falling off my face.

POINTER IN THE FIELD
    A hunting dog freezes in the pose
    And points his muzzle at the bird.
    The dog’s heart has a hard-on.
    The implied gun goes off.
    The bird bursts into flames.
    The bird bursts into song.
    The woman flies away
    To come again another day.

PALM SUNDAY
    Manhattan shrinks to a tiny tooth
    Of towers far below as we accelerate violently into verse and space
    And leave the road behind.
    Congress is having a stroke, and it’s a heart attack, and it can’t face
    China and the truth
    Fulminating from Duluth.
    Everest is the penthouse of the Earth and God is on my mind,
    But I’m more interested in getting off the Earth to your Down Under.
    My spirituality is to go hypersonic—
    And fly hypersonically out of New York on the Hampton Jitney to Sagaponack,
    Where the grass is green as the green of a Memling and the sky is you,
    Where the gulls cry with white wings and the waves gush fresh as dew.
    The time has come for magnitudes of thunder
    To split the vast nonsense of death asunder.
    My subject is New York outside my window where
    The world is a mirage in the nude.
    My subject is the Sunday-morning TV talk shows, which I,
    Loving politics, eat like food.
    I must say, Palm Sunday means nothing to me. I don’t care.
    It’s almost time to nail Christ to the air.
    It’s almost Easter and the pundit in the sky.
    I hope there really is another universe—
    New evidence says there must be—where Jesus isn’t born,
    Nor the Buddha, nor Muhammad, all that porn.
    Evidence indeed suggests other universes, nursed by the universe breast,
    The Big Bang being the breast, the first suck being the best,
    Because that suck is the void in reverse.
    Then came the Pharisees, Pontius Pilate, six million Jews killed, and worse.
    Close your eyes while you read this
    Default setting for the Divinity.
    It’s Muhammad in the cave and the angel commanding: Recite!
    Close your eyes to see infinity.
    God bless the bliss
    Of the kiss
    Of Judas Iscariot that won’t come out right,
    But comes out right. It’s in 3-D. It’s an illusion.
    Mecca today in the Arab sunlight is a white bridal gown.
    The Buddha smiling at a stoplight sees the red nose of a clown.
    The Central Park Zoo barking seals that you love, darling,
    Sun themselves in the same sunlight as the talkative starling
    Who imitates a car alarm, saying thereby that the world is delusion
    And the Holocaust