2.09.2013
takautumia.
1.10.2013
having kept faith
they’re a little stuck, of late
with surprise. not without bruising. thinking ‘better up than down.’
doesn’t mean to be
4.12.2012
oidis.
and Marguerite makes no purchases where the propaganda is concerned;
birth defects which cause one’s skin to be made of megaphones tend to kill that particular desire.
public speaking is only an art when voluntarily done.
the fact of all matters will always be as follows:
sex sells, in all degrees of perversion,
and erasure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
unlike eggs, which become exactly what they’re cracked up to be -
even when that something is sidewalk chalk;
it happens sometimes, if the basket gets dropped
like Marguerite’s was.
it’s unfortunate, because (as she’ll be the first to tell you)
chickenchildren are really quite hard to get back into their shells post-release,
the presence or lack of feathers notwithstanding.
either way, there’s not much to be done,
so she fries up an omelette and pulls out a fork...
though, this time there’s a little less savouring in the consumption than usual.
‘kewarasan,” she hums as she scrapes the bottom of the bowl.
“itu rusak... o kewarasan.”
12.18.2011
sinoniem.
medicine is no exact science,
but Doctor Physician’s patients still always die.
one would think the line between surgery and slice/dice would be less fine.
it takes a steady hand to navigate amalgamous waters,
let alone the use of a scalpel.
the [ ] doctor blames Giles de Tourettes for his difficulties in the OR,
but a playwright would likely pinpoint motivation as the main concern;
sharp objects put into the hands of those with something to prove never bodes well,
and there’s no room at the table for practitioners and their chips.
and then there’s the mask to consider -
the white gauze which is meant to soften the pronouncements made by the orifice it covers
simply works to muffle it,
and will never conceal his eyes.
those unnervingly blood red eyes.
one is supposed to shrink from the sight of spilling crimson,
not respond to it.
perhaps that’s part of the problem.
Dr. Physician’s ‘patients’ will never know.
7.10.2011
demeler.
you already know lilith’s story.
everyone knows lilith’s story.
& yet, somehow no one knows lilith’s story.
ladies & gentlemen: the problem.
& so she takes to weaving it from bits of tangled string unthreaded from swallows’ homes
with knitting needles newly found & freely flexed,
sharpened to a point by reality & the doings of man & the prefix wo-.
there’s much more to come,
but not much to be done.
& lilith knows it.
cleaning the kitchen again while watching all the counts rise,
she laments the theory of the first pancake
& offers a prayer to st. jude.
7.05.2011
omsvep.
mildred has a box.
it’s a big box.
mildred’s box is filled with stones.
there’s a lot of stones.
sometimes, she throws them.
others, she fills her pockets with them before going on long jogs.
& still others, she counts them.
they’re magical stones - overflowing with conundrums.
mildred hates them, but uses them for ID at bars sometimes.
they stay hidden under her bed, tucked safely away in their ebony square,
until someone walks into the room.
then she begins the ‘displaying them proudly with seeming reluctance’ game.
she’s quite good.
yes, mildred has a box of rocks.
or does the box of rocks have mildred?
4.03.2011
sanhi.
the clack of her strict black boots delighting her with every step,
Enna circles her charge & puts on her game face.
she’s not being paid to look pretty... er, menacing, after all.
she pats her patient on the rump & lets her hand slide up the girl’s spine & close around her throat. lowering her gaze to match her charge’s, she squeezes.
‘alright, my darling. game time is now over. playtime, however, is just beginning.’
making sure he’s watching,
Enna brings the whip over her head & down on the girl’s back in one swift, clean motion.
the customer’s eyes burn with desire.
the charge utters not a sound,
& faints.
occupational hazard.