Rebecca Black

Mephista and Miss B. in Moravia

Wearing your waxed

raincoat, blonde wig,

I followed you through

Eastern capitals, through

tickertape avenues,

confetti spiralling like DNA

until we shared a Pepsi

under a blue umbrella

in Brno.  Which once

was Austria, where pea-

vines grew wild

in the garden of Father

Mendel. (Only a celibate

was patient enough

to cross and hybridize

generations, to discover

the laws of descendency,

said Miss. B. )

Everything else

tries to keep existing.

Shadow remembers fire

its maker, fire its maker

ice.  (Miss B. tries

very hard to exist).

But Mephista means

to end the self

as a bomb’s designed

to beget bomblets,

as I abandon

this mission called


Fighter planes vaporize

over the peavines, over

these republics of desire. 

Let denotations ripple

forth & detonate.