Poem: Unready Flesh

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Another torrid night

In which my heart

Strives to beat its savagery

Away from itself

I think I can hear burglars downstairs

The scampering footsteps of insane mutants

Grinning from ear to ear

But whose ears?

Nobody could guess.

This isn’t any pillow talk

Just molasses for the mad

I lay torrid on this bed

A bed that wants me too much

Where flesh wants me too little

Still, the goddesses enfold

Their vajra bodies around me

I feel the panic of a moment

That knows no promise

But the shrivelling fear

To fulfil itself

I look for a Heroine

Some meaty fishmonger

Who can throw me in The Deep Freeze

To save me from The Thaw

But I want to die –

What good will that do me?

Building sand castles

Out of ostrich eggs

And stroking my body

Wishing it were yours

Whose eyes

Will ever again

Gaze at my own?

To piercingly infect me in the night

In the kingdom of a bed

I got kicked out of

To go paddling

In a corpse-strewn moat

I did always like a good consumptive

Tuberculosis eating off your face

The strained wings of a pterodactyl

Fallen prey to escalators

As their preferred means of travel

No wonder they went extinct

Stupid birds

Going the way

Of all stupid things

Memories sometimes feel like vampires

Sucking us away from the present

Until we’re too enfeebled

To face any moment

The straight-jacket of the past

Forming a palimpsest

That makes all horses turn white

I try to cultivate hopelessness

And seek asylum

In loving arms

Of the inter-dimensional doxies

That intersect this one

Oh, heart run smooth!

Oh nerves, stop jangling!

I shake with palsy at the sensation

Of a sad awakening that already grips me

An argument of isolation

Seems to haunt every conversation

Have I given in too much to my feelings

And buried myself in the past?

Love alive can never be a certainty –

Just a gamble, a hope, a spectre,

A distorted vision

Seen over the shoulder of stupidity

While it was busy

Looking the other way

At the meaningless whiskers

On life’s trivialities

While a scythed warrior drew by

Maybe I’ll see you again some day

In a different time

When forgiveness flourishes

And karma is rinsed away

All my dreams

Won’t have to seem so fleeting

The meeting place

Of hope and fear

The horrid arena

In which they both like to play

And so the torrid night

Continues to tyrannize me

With the hiccups and bumps

Of unready flesh

My mother bought me some bamboo

To take root in my desk

Perhaps by the time

It’s old enough to get a job

This poet

Will already

Be dead?

 

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