Illumine

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Robert Rauschenberg, Kickback, 1959.

 

 

You see

an illuminated hourglass.

 

I see

you

held down and red,

a rape reversed,

Riders on the Storm

playing in the background.

I tighten my

black leather strap-on-

all I need is love, bitch.

 

Feel

the slave you never split

rip the wings off your

Day of the Dead

monarchy

like a tangled knot,

making you beg to choke,

heads or tails,

on my rubber barrel.

 

Tell me you want this

blood

running down your legs,

my ritualistic hands

around your neck,

Esperanto,

this one last

burnt offering for

Synagoga.

 

 

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To Live

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Hieronymus Bosch

I will meet you

somewhere between the

theta waves

and this wounded refusal

to die.

 

But you have to be there,

truly be there

amidst the graves

and the killing laughter which

revels in your

every death.

 

The thefts,

and the burns

broadcast

a sudden madness,

your premeditated

deterioration.

 

Only when I washed up

on these brinks,

did I choke

on the tombs

of those killers.

 

The next storm

has already been planned.

 

I will be here

if you need me

with nothing left

to be taken.