Poem: Sexual Rites


The false temptation of gentleness,
A voice soft like torn sheets,
Too much blood in the bed,
For me to share it

Below the waist, we’re all lunatics,
Haunted by spectres of negative experience,
Venereal pandemonium of desire confused,
Surgical scarification where we’ve been abused

United by our neuroses,
We live neurotically divided,
Yes, erotica and neurotica –
The two corpses in the bedroom

Barbed-wire corsets inlaid,
With carnelian blood beads,
A spilt glass of Merlot,
A book of misdeeds

The alien sex devices
Are indivisible from torture,
Who conquers most –
The Clown or The Voyeur?

Resembling Dionysius,
I cut off my phallus,
Squeeze out the semen,
Into an ornate bone chalice

Daubed on her skin,
She wept bloody tears,
Reimbursing the pain,
I’d held in arrears

Mutual self-torment,
Surrenders the fight,
Declaring myself morbid,
I whispered “Good night.”