Random Crucifixions

Obsessions, Dolls & Maniac Cameras

Hammer & Anvil Books, 2018

 

 

The Sexual Innuendos of Artificial Intelligence

 

“hello again,” she said

in between silhouettes pinned to obscurity

(this is their first masochistic submission

just another member of the club

 

this ride has become uncomfortable

 

it was time to remove that mask

while sitting on dynamite

(quivering

shivering)

the focus of our attraction

was hidden in windows of fluorescence

between fertile shots in the dark

there was no legal right

so please call me

stand by me and collapse

life-forces drained

the doors were left open

the gates had been left unlocked

 

a discussion of the analog pleasures of

sinful behavior lost beneath

currents of eyesight ended in

murmurs

 

just push a button to enter her private revenge fantasy network

illuminated plastic visages exhibit tongues lapping at

atmospheres poised for a rapid decline

that was where the real excitement lived

spine twisted as per their prescribed manipulations

 

13 unnamed dead photographers

 

passed out from bliss

these skagged bastards dormant in shallow graves of sand

entertained robotic fantasies that squirm slightly

filtered behavior for the general public

assassinating the man in the street

enjoy the agonies to be reported

a feast for the scandal–mongering rags

 

13 apostles screaming for more

 

this ride has become uncomfortable

a smile glimpsed briefly

remembered at least once a month

memory of a leather vest impregnated with

the signatures of the zodiac

 

we all fall down

follies of following her into the just arrived n train

whispers and wheezing

had bloody hands

wonder why

 

the grammatical tense is changing

this made a noise

but no one turned

she has eyes of red deep penetration

burning up the mist

hanging around physicians of sleaze

licking spines

caressing exposed marrow

and pumping hearts

 

strong AI objections to the proposition

we have killed a summer day

 

sister’s sister clinging to barbed wire

machines pumping

no thoughts no sound

on auto-pilot

fluctuations of desires

all mixed up

all fucked up

all fall down

ashes to ashes

 

it’s not over yet

you’re tired aren’t you my dear?

lead them to a polka dot pattern

a program's instruction

wetter by the second

a standard interpretation

 

our skin is glowing now

the stories will later pervert the details

the tabloids never get it right

we just loved each other and

didn’t really know what we were doing.

just a portrait in white chalk on a cracked

slate blackboard

 

the doors were left open

the gates had been left unlocked

 

 

 

Classification and Evolution at the Obscene Film Studio

 

this part creates side-tracking shots.

this scene embarrasses her.

another kind of material as she felt herself

twitching by the mirror –

her mascara running. the clocked ticked. no hands.

a ghost offered her a new perspective on dreams,

as its left hand made its way under

her black silk blouse that

was moist with her fever’s sweat.

releases of the material were reviewed at the

 

migraine screening room,

as a voiceover recited credits.

her eyes rolled back,

casually switching to the complex modern world.

she always carried a contempt for daylight.

she moaned as she looked it in the eye.

the trembling hands offering no pleasure.

she was immune to most emotions,

such as fear and love.

 

get a tempo from sight and sound,

releasing questions besides her bed.

she reached a nightmare at least once

and targeted the mirror’s sneer.

when she downed the cocktail of irritation, ennui and oxycodone,

mixed with her juices in her favorite crystal glass,

the concoction caught at the back of her throat but

she managed to swallow it down,

 

as the houris of the hashishins licked her clean.

she became a sleep that fabricated sensual demons.

this film contains a residue from

her previous actions – a few sins –

on a negative burned in

for a mental rehearsal.

blackness sears retinas.

 

she said,

“he told me ‘i can’t put up with this

any longer.’ that’s why

he left me/ i cried for awhile

 

then the humor of it struck me.

 

i /hunted him down later and

/brought him back here.

 

/he hates his rusty memory.”

 

multiple studies were done out on the balcony

of some cold variations of her imagery

of her naked torso fresh with goose bumps

bathing in a nighttime breeze.

 

techniques of treatment were grouped

into a series of tracking shots.

 

 

 

Pure Music in the Warehouse of Photograms

 

They took good care of the patient

until they released her into the air

floating drifting

 

cruising cursing NYC downtown

rising disease

clutching veins

twisting

 

petals of blood were added to the flow of the breeze

catalogued atrocities were but whispers of thoughts now

 

the vortex of the hour for sinning came

quite unexpectedly for our heroine

unsatisfied.

 

her cravings were equated with the lepers enjoying

their blood-drunken rage.

 

an abandoned new building was shuttered from the inside

you can’t take it away from her

her nails were imbedded deeply

 

the addiction removed their cures

replacing them with indelible faces frozen in horror

the growths became circular in nature and the

musical notes formed crowns that pierced forgotten skins

the vacuums didn’t squelch the endless noises

 

then she said her.

Prayers.

Then. again she

said her prayers

this time. perfectly

this time.

this time. our

time parts. of

the mind were. Gone.

 

in time.

brushing away the insects that controlled time.

 

My journey ended. Our journey started.

 

her hands cupped her throbbing vagina and she felt her wet clocks twitching

wrapped in a faint sketch of timid longings barely satisfied

never to be out-vamped by the fallen flesh of Liz Taylor

she painted a fresco of her fuck frenzy on the chapel ceiling

 

twisted

a nerve twisted cock.

twisted

faces. Bent happiness.

 

with much laughter

she tore off the numeric dials that

had been tattooed on her legs

 

you get all this for you only

tick. tick. tock.

just so your eyes can see me

no down payments

just disjointed music

just laughter no smiles

 

it’s all so dirty out there

not filthy arousing not like in here

not like pussies glistening in silver August moonlight

 

your presence is detected in me

your presence is reminiscent of our differences

your goal is to make the rusted iron shatter

 

in a fractured alchemy turning base metal into

a rose of acid that blossoms then

clings to forgotten tombstones

etched with graffiti epitaphs

written in the blood of Isis the original

necromancer who once

revived Osiris with her skills of the blowjob

 

while inspirational cadavers sing falsetto in

golden October moonlight

providing more information

about the failed experiments

we held each other closer

 

They had taken good care of her

until they released her into the air

drifting or floating through tubes of black coral

our petals of blood added to the flow of the breeze

 

 

 

a haze of belladonna for a self-portrait

(parallax view/Lizzy Mercier Descloux)

 

Shhh…

 

he was totally in love with the women who sipped blood 

the vampire girls

 

she had the aura of International Klein Blue:

soft and cool

smooth and liquid

stretching vibrant fingers outwards

towards goals of unknown satisfaction

 

she had the aura of film noir:

razor sharp, fog poisoned by evil

unsteady, tense 

killing vipers in the darkness 

With dilated pupils, capturing her prey

reciting her prayers near the broken closets

 

the texture of her thoughts caressed

the telephonic telekinetic proclamations of her love

those words that she had hidden inside

the barriers of false childhood memories

blood/brain flow was blocked in a pictorial sensibility

 

the void reigned supreme

craving the sun to be wrapped in steel cords

at the theater where the moon lay on wet soil

to replace death and enshrine it in a frame of blood

she had seen the show many times (no need for a ticket)

her aluminum heart was teleported to other beings

to the creatures who had been her lovers

they had been transferred to a mirror’s other side

trapping polished scenes of her past affections and/or copulations

 

plastic keys opened the blood flow

from doors that had been dependent

on the existence of prior human beings

Codeine is synthesized from the Echo

she began humming the music from the fallen beauty of New York City

 

Babylon sanitized, senses dulled,

her tear ducts burned

as she stole the soil from the parents’ garden

as she made a bed for her new floral arrangements

as she lay on top, spread-eagled 

ebony hair fanned out, hyper drive

pure glory: a timepiece was shattered

the unique paintings hidden under her closed eyelids,

they told her their secrets and occasional lies for comfort

Shhh…

burn the papers of the 3 madmen

leather coated in sweat

while singing at the violent eclipse like i taught you

(a rock n’ roll nurse was slaughtered on 10th avenue)

 

caress a throb of a remembrance enshrined in clear laminate

 

kiss. blend into us. kiss. the death toll climbed. kiss.

brush blackened lips against roses while petals are fingered.

 

 

 

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