The Closet Weeper

By Mitchell Glazier
Stiletto melon collies, a tinsel mystic streaks our homeplace.

Lantern flies triple from the sleeping hollow
Breeder Beau’s high romance jowl. Here lies the ermine

Childhood, coiled at the taxidermist’s lap.

Nods cure noose.
Marrow jarred with boy lashes. 

After the rag, I’ve come to smother
Nicer than the rest of the carnival.

Rhinestone-mooned acrylic nail
Wedged in the mouth of a Coinstar.

Lucite toe tag of the pornographer nimbly
Drawn from a god’s roadside guts-bag.  Rosy swine tallow.

So-and-so Stepfather gnaws the wet barbecue
These boyhood Sundays, this sweet by and by.

Mother pulls pantyhose from the dog, her kohled     Eye pinned open
At roan hour, listening for the hair.

A priest, nude from the stole down, says all’s well.

Lace your brogues up, folly dear, it’s time.

What else can you do when the sewing kit unfurls
A needle with your nickname.

Whoever you are, what has it meant, this  Lion-threaded pillowcase

Muzzling the cemetery boy, toddling on—but harrow and deo deo?
 

Source: Poetry (May 2025)