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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4634 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week jack Travis Ezell (vox et praeterea nihil) the flesh-colored light of these lamps make wet and orange on the cold and gray reflections in puddles as i step lightly around, and my fingers close around the handle i'm willing to pay my voice shakes free from my mouth as fog breathes for me in the air her eyes are green and black as she sings piece of me for a haypenny governor piece of me for almost nothing and the buzz begins within on knees alive like a hive of bees i try to stand still and look calm how old are you how much for your friend how much for the both of you my fingers stroke the handle as she turns alive eyelashes shake, her hips start to writhe. goosed flesh on her neck and i can scream the sound of her heart in her tiny, limp chest almost nothing governor almost nothing for us two together her friend sings for me, exposes all her welts and stings for me. my voice no more than a whisper, my hands nothing more than sick creatures twisting and trying to flee, trying to get away from me, my eyes stab darkness into the light around the corner into the night out of the bloated lamps into the shadows and glorious blackness damp, into the singsong dampness black. i grip the handle and make ready to move imagine their bellies rise pale and smooth carved into jelly, lily and wine, tell them its okay tell them its fine tell them don't worry, i'm not going to hurt them telling them hurry up, hurry up children and the buzz begins to win again i pull out the handle and i'm lost in the scene surgical nakedness, hot-blooded, clean. and the buzz within begins to scream and beyond that i can hear nothing but the sound of simple the sound of sex the sound of oh god what happens next i think i'm smiling or maybe i'm mad maybe i'm shouting and after i've had a look at each one, skin and bone, fleshless toneless, sad as stone, first one goes down, quick and quiet, a good little girl, then the other beside her to bed, blonde hair bobbing on her thick little head green eyes blackened by blanket soot, sad but silent how peaceful they look the handle digs in, begins its feast and following pain, the buzzing will cease when i wake tomorrow i will call the police guilt will have wracked me guilt will have won but tonight i am sinner, father and son, tonight i am servant and they mastered me. tonight i am shadows. tonight i am free. |
