5 rules

1. generate a 5 letter random noun - this is the title
2. write a 5 line acrostic poem (each line starting with one of the 5 letters)
3. the entire poem should employ only one human sense (taste, smell etc)
4. there should be one household object
5. there should be one number

 
hotel

how the wind tastes
on the balcony of every Comfort Inn - five
times have I sighed tonight into my cup of
evening literature,
longing for more

river

reeking of 
incense-holders and ash,
violet flowers bob like
empty fishes in the ganges seven days a week -
residual life 

I sit in quiet contemplation of Moloch

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

I have transmuted
evenings into nights
and darkening eyesight into
these four walls 
a roof
a grocery bill that lengthens every month
though I remain one
I have spent the years of my youth practising
how to reach for the wallet on my hip
in one fluid motion
so I can brandish dollars before a raised eyebrow asks
if I need help with anything

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

I have constructed safety 
knowing locks and doors and 
smart speakers and smart lights
and iphones and subscriptions can vanish, knowing
that we are bloated bags of blood
encased in a skin so thin
that a single misstep can 
make us explode into fine mist

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

I have nurtured love and love
has blossomed within these walls of glass and 
concrete that shimmer like teal seas, 
love with running money as its lifeblood and i have
loved over whatsapp and facebook
and written poetry in emails to friends
and cried over linkedin

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

I have felt wonder on the top floor
of the tallest tower in the city
felt the cool vegas night air 
in the summer seize my tongue
and deep kiss me with tobacco-stained lips
so that I lost my voice

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

I have tried to find myself in
nations
passports
banks
and governments 
in politics and economics and sexless silicon and
poetry and even outside my window -
i have contemplated canadian geese that fly with the sun
on their wings like a giant feathery boomerang and i have
scratched desperately looking for words by prophets
graffitied on the walls of my eyelids

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

breathe in 
breathe out.