Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

26
“Yr my cherry.”
Rebecca. I wrap her in a blood red scarf & none other. She sits in my lap & looks
about 12 trying to figure me out this time.
“It’s tonight.”
“What?”
“Tonight is acid night. The other side of this night. You’ll see.”
“We’re ready?”
“We’re beyond ready.”
There is no certainty anymore. Not really. The earth is filled with treeroots &
hopeful corpses.
We’ve fought on a long battleground of fear & doubt. This never ends.
But there’s more. A half-moon punching a bright continuous word in the nightsky.
The music Noisy Children is battering, at the walls of Luna T’s Cafe. The many who love
me tonight. The one who dreams of meeting me & kissing me & how I will court her &
who we will two vessels be
Oh lord I understand none of it the vinepatterned rugs & chairs in this hotel lounge.
I don’t really know why the stars are. I want to be a father of many daughters & a single son.
I want my mate to be my virgin soon my muse later my widow last of all
Two vases. We will be the sweet, cold water and the jar that pours.
Listen to this story that is no story this poem unreasonable & vast. I used to be
someone who wrote another way. There are no models or guides left for me. I’m nearly 35.
Schooldays are over
I marry you, Rebecca, to teach you & to listen. Your simulacra is walking my world
tonight & she’s restless & she’s impatient & music hardly calms her these days & colors
make her thighs growl with sweat.
New Period. Motherfucker of a time. Paradise never moves. Echo. The ground beneath
her feet. Hideous kinky.
My notebook is on fire. Please save it. Please save it. Please save me.
I am going to the desert to learn how to immolate mongst the masters. The smiling
thousands. Bardo plane. Lysergic acid. Tight teen ass. Dose her cuz she’s cute. Fuck her cuz you
can. Suck harder, baby, & I’ll make your devils go away.
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005
To be continued in The Cenacle | 55 | October 2005