When The Prey Becomes The Predator~

Bleeding emeralds from her eyes

she hobbled his unstable salvation with a kiss

full of sharp teeth

dug her fists into the irresponsibility of his past

pulled his beating pulse

into the cheap modesty

of a servile future

drenched in white pages

lace sleeves edged in blood

 

She came in fury

pierced through with virtuous style

the gun like sleek love against the small of her back

tucked into her hip huggers

his hopeless surrendering over blackjack in the bend

of the table

ironic;

she licked the salt off the rim of the martini glass

her inclination

of hip against his thighs

binding the broken arches of his age

into the masterpiece of her fragrant seduction

 

When she stood at the tower window

his thorns embedded in her tongue

she was a child

lost in bitter waves of men without remorse

sickness edging silver rose bouquets they'd lay

at her tiny feet

before they took her cheek and pressed its angel softness

against their fever lips

while, confused

she pulled back into a tulip flame

and mourned her skin from behind the sun

 

When she walked budding ghost thickets through Manhattan

men wove their quick, cool hands through the golden locks of her hair

and her nightdress

as she stood apart from the world

unwilling mistress

thrashing against cords of silk

as the gypsy songs deepened her into surrender

and he pressed his metal knife against her throat

an animalistic prelude

to a trip to the cafe

where she gently struck the spoon against the china cup

shattering her body into bridal judgments

the container of cream upended and covering her thighs;

he laughed

the sound like a stunned etching at the base of her spinal cord

 

She walks an atmosphere of violence

judges from the other side

her romance with tears long gone

the scarlet of their sins paralyzed against her voluptuous needs

she moves into them, through them like a blade

thirsty

for the battlefields of their bodies now bent over years

she smiles

crawls their sinuous souls with serpentine spin

undulating

fatal moments like candied swans

morphing into trigger fingers of alloy

 

She gave him a wire rose

lingered for a moment in his liquid desert colored eyes

"I must be leaving soon." she whispered, "but I wanted to tell you this. . . . ."

 

"They told me way back in never land that if I made a dress out of skye, the moon,the sun and the donkey skin, that you would never find me. But you found me every night and every day.  I never really had a chance, did I?"

"Stories are for children," said the monster, "there are no happy endings."

 

she flowered into blood above his nature

and put the silver bullet between his eyes

 

 

copyright:2009vssmd/pa.inc

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

excerpt from . . . .

Reviews

[Morning Star]

This is a very beautiful write as my eyes dance from beginning to end
I truly love how you, Stepped out of the shadows from a world where
Fantasies dwell,How i love the imagery and vividness your words
Placed on my mind as always my sweet friend
A joy to read your brilliant work!
wishing you a great Day!!

[Jonathan De Elvira]

From what I can see...
This poem does have a strong avenging theme behind it...
It's...Beautiful and frightening at the same time...

[Nik Dendera]

Ah, an excellent piece! Stunning imagery, beautifully written. You paint such a vivid picture with your words and you don't over load it.

Fantastic ending!

[Coyote Poetry]

You can write a powerful story. The description and the strong story brought me in and held me to the last word. The set-up and flow of the poem was very good. Never underestimate the prey. Sometime you may never know who is being chased. A very good ending to your poem. Thank you. A outstanding poem.
Coyote

[Pax Analog]

The song of your strange soul beauty soars. The blood of the poet avenges by its very nature. The more uncompromising the commitment to poetic transcendence, the less any "about" language should be used in response. Only oblique counterpoint or still-point lucidity. This rock noir Beauty and the Beast fabulizes sexwar crimez unto brave liberation. But more than that, "she pulled back into a tulip flame/and mourned her skin from behind the sun" embraces expressiveness itself as a warmth against cold impingement.

Then as the prey grows stronger, learning to beat the predator at its own game:

"She walks an atmosphere of violence
and judges from the other side
her romance with tears long gone
the scarlet of their sins paralyzed against her voluptuous needs
she moves into them, through them like a blade
thirsty
for the battlefields of their bodies now bent over years
she smiles
and crawls their sinuous souls with serpentine spin
undulating
fatal moments like candied swans
morphing into trigger fingers of alloy"

From victim to siren to assassin. Dazzlingly rendered cinematic transformation.

Beyond the silver bullet abide Shiva-Shakti singularly entwined. Killers too -- of illusion -- adamantine Kosmic shatteringly Real.

[Ruth]

Revenge, receiving whats due!

"she flowered into blood above his nature
and put the silver bullet between his eyes "........ brilliant lines and imagery!

Selene, this ROCKS love! lol

xx

[TAO]

Haha, nice, nice... I LOVE this!!!! The monster getting his come-upins with a bullet between the eyes. Selene, this is like a dream come true, and somehow still a dream; the final cut, the curtain dropping, the victim offing the one that tried to destroy them. It's awesome... Vengeance is hers, even as the Lord claims it for himself... When the left hand of God waves, though, does it matter what form the hand destroys takes?

I like this one very, much. Not only is it well written (as always), but it's delivery is strong, and the message is potent. Favorite all the way.

[Marianne]

So very, very sad....I like the last two lines though !

One of your finest writing, Selene....I imagine your heart was pained when you prompted your pen to release the power down the page........

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

When the innocent are no more and the death breath of humanity's ugliness creeps across the skin, the soul struggles within itself, strives to survive, and thrives on a strength yet before unknown.

Ernest Hemingway said, "All things truly wicked start from an innocence."

I wonder if there is really any sort of innocence this side of the womb.

If your words were a destination and I was going on vacation, I think I would find myself in the folds of a shadow within the ache of forgotten things.

Linda Marie

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

Eloquent and strong are all your writes.I like pulled his beating pulse

into the cheap modesty

of a servile future drenched in white pages ..

[Ed Hart]

it's a old song, probably started 20+ years ago, and packed with all those EverReady 12 gauge double ought double barrel smack and crack back fliiiiiiiiip humps between loves and doors and the reddest lips that could be bought and nights so long the sun didn't matter anymore, and the cries of the children and broken hearts littered the dull eyes of men that needed killing so bad it still hurts