Updated: Mar 17, 2022
In twos and threes
They arrived in their leisure,
entering the wispy ring
of moldy mattresses, bottles o’ booze
& shadow seizures
through the trees. These
Friday afternoon rendezvous
of trailer park pixies
& goblin kings,
all fledglings in the art of fashionably dying.
Their ancestors were slaves t’pretense
& toil, and they, themselves
the antagonizing plot twist
of Life’s farce they wished to foil:
Neurotic since the cradle,
fleeing the fatal
clutches of boredom
w/ their teenage hearts beat, beat, beatin’
in a Halloween rage.
They gladly drank from the river of Lethe,
longing for the warm womb plunge
of a Dionysian rebirth
t’feel again the skin of this earth
& the chilled loom of the Chindis
to cease, erased…
& the flowers of the mind to blossom,
New revelations, new sensations,
new sounds! Metanoias
wherein the hyacinths know no bounds!
- Hallucination, horror, haven: that holy menage a trois –
Self-scalping the ancient, gray labyrinth
like mad electric-afro surgeons
drawn to the allure of what fantastic
new Frankenstein they could burgeon
in their own image.
O those beautiful Bohemian hemorrhages…
The iron drip… The slip
from Mother’s hand to the Other Side…
a poet’s parricide… childhood’s suicide…
Each the severing of a bored tongue
too long tied & implored
t’pray for pearls.
They must kill themselves to feel alive.