Thunderbride
By Mark Bibbins
My throat is full of sparklers
making me a lighthouse
for a loveship that can fly
Our mother monarchy
sweet land paternity
I’ll eat their offspring’s money and let you have a bite
In wilder colors I can love the copy of you
which is great when we have breasts
He will breathe through contractions
and she will heal the faceless
and use her eyes to steel his legs
You must see that I’m eating for two sexes
Minimalism means nothing making more
of what isn’t there
a green preconception
divining a baby gender
for which I qualified
with braids ablaze and stuck to my back
We are going to win then make extra babies
yes we make enough
to make a country
Text unto the winged baby the tiny pill of mystery
that makes me want to tickle the world
until it starts barfing clouds
Make it free is not the advice we paid for
but a long song about the flavor of nowhere
and how we never fill it
and how I shave my buzzardy wings to offend the sublime
While I’m quick to swallow the heaviest business
and quicker yet to modify that trash
you have a poultice for sudden holes
you have a knife in ten minutes
you will marry a parent and make it do
whatever you tell it
The raptor you were does an end-run around sorrow
but I’m right here sweetness
out of the glass closet voilà
voilà so what do you make of my baby
Tonight we bomb
Tonight we blitz
Tonight we barrage
Tonight we make the greater migration
Tonight our fabulous flock shits napalm on the criminal dads
For I am a figure first of girls in orbit
the best reason I have to eat your bed
I am spangled breasts I am shaved
like any birdboy only huger
than babies or ladybugs
one of each is precious
a million a menace
My inside is a live mine
and I’m after the light that sustains the skin of women
scooping the spectacle
where everyone freaks everyone
They will say how do you do Mister Ms. Thunderbride
and I will say I do it distorted
and you will marry a million of you
in your twisted gown of flames
Source: Poetry (October 2013)