Harry Meets Russian Hottie

The boy who lived?
Try the girl who kicked
it to the liquor store, try
fifteen men on your old
man's chest, try a bottle
of the Captain radicalized
and immunized into conver-
sation salads, you're at Satan's
Grand Ball with your middle finger
suckled by a girl named Margarita who's
lounging on a Greek sofa, naked.

Meet her, she's a Russian bourgeois,
a diamond on her finger, married
not to the boy who lived but to the
Master that isn't, and know that
adultery isn't adultery if you're in
hell already, let the criminals in attendance
slip through the loophole.

And once you see the shadows
in the noontime, boy who lived
must carry his cross and insert
it into his Margarita's Grey Goose-cooch
for a moaning torgsin sandwich. Severus,
sever-us, SEVER US whydon'tyou?

THE GATES TO GETHSEMANE
will open at eight o'clock/seven central,
so turn off that television and feel
the heartbeats accelerate, feel the pores
opening, sweat glowing hips rustling
legs together only momentarily.

The Golden Snatch boy who lived
catches in his mouth out on the Quidditch
field, boy who lived makes awkward
joke about a wand, Margarita calls it
his broomstick. Bigger, she says.

Boy who lived makes Margarita scream.
She laughs and kisses your chest while
you tell her that everything is body.
She repeats it while you're lying in her bed,
raveled up in blankets. Everything is
body.

You ask her what that means to her while you're
smoking her Russian cigarettes, and she
tells you that souls are commodities, and
smokin' hot Russians like her and boys with
broomsticks like yours do not have souls.
Beautiful people, she says through a drag,
for beautiful people everything is body.