Song To Cantaloupe Head

Song To Cantaloupe Head
(derived from postcards)
by Nathan Ventura
O Cantaloupe Head,
forever fickle, yet unrelenting,
always tickling the doorknob
of abysmal death,
you have once again
happened into my skull,
seeping through my mind
like the tires
that ever so slowly
move along the river’s bottom,
only to get backed up
by the dam
that is my tongue.
As I am pondering you
I am wasting away
in the methamphetamine ridden hotels
of past their prime mining towns,
all connected by old coal railroads
that weave through the countryside
like varicose veins
on a tar lunged hooker’s legs.
I am sleepless now
fingering at the holes
that you’ve chewed
in the soft fabric
that is my inside;
you are the caterpillar
making your way through my guts,
squirming and gnawing,
leaving it all,
all but sane.
Come with me,
dance with me,
in slow motion
watch me twirl
in my post traumatic dress;
lift me up
let me fly
let me die
and hold
my dead body
in your arms
as if it were your lover’s,
then cut me open
tell me my veins are wires
hijack my body
and take me
recklessly
through the night,
and when I decide
to open my eyes
look to the sky
and give thanks
to the almighty gods
of fast food, pacemakers,
and six lane highways
for my deliverance
back unto you;
and then drawing your head close
I will whisper in your ear
something about granite spires
and how they threaten the sky
with their Neanderthal blades,
preventing it from collapsing upon us
as we lay together
resurrecting
what we’ve smothered
with neglect.