A Chronic Use of Neglect
a feeling of skin
a heaviness of the extremities
if he may be considered
out of mind.
if she slept with the excitement of it
the symbolic objects would serve to emphasize
what went wrong as we walked a fractured causeway.
a slight arch
a slash and fall
a fallen desire
a neglected sound.
while taking an inventory of
the residual intensities of effects
her fingers were bent craving
the enjoyment of a risk of overdose.
covered by the leather mask
she often wore while looking in windows
she gently kissed his hands then
quietly sealed his eyes shut.
serpent handling: an additional killing in the boudoir
the final test
her love of screams
her love of laughter.
at the table:
a nude female
diner transfixed by transubstantiations
seen in 3-D through the View-Master
reminisce about a childhood toy.
woman falls through the air
arms rigid – movement voided
face adorned by eyes frozen
mouth decorated by saliva emanating
silver tears mercurial in nature
a caressing of skin.
her nuclear shadow
(etched into the molding
near the termite holes) was
aggravated by fast breathing,
now a labored screaming function.
they amused themselves with
a giallo desire to be destroyed by knives
and left in a clotting pool while the director wept
her mommy told of madness
and tales of the snake-people,
cobra dances and reptile prayers.
her skin felt funny in the shower
water didn’t feel good
(it’s all fucked up).
the preacher didn’t help.
no help from a soul used up,
venom makes its way through her blood vessels.
behind the eyes vacant smiles
she brought warning signs
your mood swings.
the shower won’t cleanse
her skin was raw.
she turned on
she turned over.
the switch shorted out
a case of ungrounded plugs.
she counted two circular electrodes running scared
then she was more comfortable with the situation.
contact & control was a way of existence for her
the charge slowly mattered to me
her pussy lips pouting - so provocative.
“i think she was a second timer to the receptacle and
she’s still there”
they changed her face.
it was inside then it was good.
years of commercial use had forced a change.
she went out leaving the room of odors and pain
clad in black fishnet stockings –
to do some posing on the
black sand beach.
it’s where the rattlers were handled with no thought for safety,
where words were said with no redemption,
creatures charmed by the rabid snake-charmers.
she was deconstructed at 24 fps,
vibrating water washes her ankles,
afterwards she sat down with a wet plop,
smiling as bullets ricocheted.
this was a done dream, dear, dear me.
by the beach.
inside the house,
the maidens screamed for
pleasures they had lost.
a little game gone a little wrong
long used to the shock level
she measured out 1 shock duration and 1 automatic failure.
view prey. pulse.
get some sleep.
the sun came
mimicking a lifelike lust.
the ruins disappear behind them
as the extravagant electric vixens commit a crime
charmed charming creatures
A Chronic Use of Neglect
So real and private….I feel I’m behind a smoky screen. This is at once cloaked in diary like description and also a voyeur’s explanation. This poem is less vivid than many of your others but no less weighty. I feel this ~ wonderful piece.
This piece is heavy and reads as a poetic chronicle… the life and work of a porn star told and woven in verse. There is a pervasive sense of darkness and that feeling that is held over from a morally questionable previous night, a life lived in that space. Then there is the sense that because it is chosen, some sense of power in the choice, it’s a l m o s t alright. This piece reads as a part of a grander idea. Nice!!!