To the wedding all you wounded, worthless, and overthrown.
Though the gradient foreboding and the path an incurable bramble of thorny sleep,
We rough beasts, feculent mephitic virulent,
have at last somwhere to go.
Limp quick then ogre
stumbling nimbly
lurching handsome in the time-honored slouching fashion
Dirty fingers digging honey-crusted sores.
Honest farmers in the landscape of transgression
we are we are we are.
Thoughts of love, of eternal union,
metastasize 'n corrupt such wee brittle skulls
For porcelain will not hold poison, but crack with smirks revealing untoward purpose
like dryads tramping across a dessicated vaudeville stage
death trap
every high-heeled footfall festooning us with bruises:
blank black eyes
leaking pomegranate dregs.
An unruly load for weak sacs of pus already heavy with the curse of self-excavation
each face a plenum void of engorged ticks
Such pretty petty things deserve forced entry
Apollo obliges
thrusting his sword through our gelatinous tumors
Tragic, naturally
but done to music.
and we cross the wedding threshold.
An awkward entrance
An infection of suspicion amongst the matrons, bridesmaids, and other dearly departed.
We were not invited.
Our presence undesirable.
Serpents sniffing at a nest
we are we are we are.
A wave of comely bubbly promotes an elliptical slice of merciful confusion.
Precious objects slip their keeper's grasp.
A flower girl meanders off
skipping to the loo
the call of nectar
Hades returns to the narcissus patch
now a waste-dedicated vestibule.
She's down, undone
panties squeeze knees
I'm creeping in
a stream begins
the music of private fluids
the sound of piss
nature worship is limitless
but the fruit clenches tight the fountain
when it feels my gaze possess its
tender spout
A quiet harvest is provoked.
(muffly treacly hole in corner)
I spy a wisp of secret garden within her musky curvature.
The master puppet extends his heartfelt approval
tenders forth an offering-
a spume of friendly fire,
the froth of ancient force,
a lucifrase spray of seed
for our orifice-agape proserpine.
A push and a shove is oft required to conquer land
but a mere caress of helping hand to cloven hoof
and the abyss
is yours, yours,yours.
A warm place to put it
a slippery purse
a deck slick with innards
The wedding reception now a vessel broken, sinking in a sea of pomegranate dregs
a pile of strangled doves
a diamond rope
a sturdy beam
a throne for kicking out from underneath.
Your entrails darling
make a super noose.
Privately chambered below
our newlyweds entwined
though they know not yet the frozen dark,
with each full fathom further dropping
feel the deeps own id crushing them together
as if Poseidons' making diamonds.
There's a lot of pressure in mythology to keep up appearances
and the picture gets a headache
as blind spots blithely claim horizon.
Eros dies to an empty house
collapsing into the angular murk of broken light bulbs, egg-shells, and mouldy excrement.
Nothing but a dry dull itch of concrete where all that divine consciousness use to be.
Shall I, with soiled fingers
worry these folds of drapery
disturb your distance
and leaning against this, the void's own balustrade, whisper in your ear:
"you see my love, we are as diamonds are"?
A slight shudder of firmament
and the unseen hand of eclipse (now bejewelled) flicks it's wrist
and were marsyas, icarus, prometheus
the whole pantheon of idiots
gallantly clutching gallows, guillotine, and death-speech to our bosom
staggering, stumbling, pushing and shoving to claim the void as our very own.
And who can blame us?
It's a nice spread
a fecund hole with a pretty border of lace praying for invasion.
Violence finds its groove
a suckling curse curves the air
surging for a rebirth of the wound
while blank black eyes loiter at the lip.
--Myron Chase II (mercvry)
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