a w***e / a shrink

in a bed made of pain,

with cold fusion eyes,

laughter like buckshot,

breasts like wildflowers,

we take off the armor,

rub away scars,

slit throats of demons,

watch shadows dance.

 

our blood-boiled lovesong,

our jagged snake teeth,

sink daggers in milk,

sing Eden fruit rotten,

shame our fine names,

heal our sick boredom,

lay down your paper,

the hour is up.

 

on a blue couch of needles,

with rabid regard,

I baptize my conscience,

bloody my pride,

demolish walls,

spackle the temple,

explode and implode,

watch shadows dance.

 

my elevator mindset,

she raises her eyebrows,

top floor: lacy veils,

basement: bloodstained bats,

a desk of black marble,

an executioner’s axe,

leave your head in the basket,

the hour is up.

Reviews

[roarke]

I always wondered what those charlatan's wrote on those little pads of theirs....
now I'm going to get comments for that crack....

There's TONS of good stuff here, maybe too much for one piece, which may be the point.... the reason for the shrinks and the w****s.... I'm a bit dense at times, slow learner type...

Still, the rich imagery and doctor patient relationship.... fills the reader's head to near explosion. Again maybe the point... art should DO something to the audience... My favorite stanza's here are one and three, my teeth sunk all that way in on those.

so.... like how many shrinks do you go through a month anyway? lol