In large crowds it was difficult to discern his voice
Above others. Helicopters propagated awareness
Akin to public media, this is a scene, a mass, a lovely "disturbance". He
Imagined breading the coquettes in sequins and table top skirts, ironed
By some wrongly accused fashionable babushka hunched in the city
By the sea. Shameless. The cunts they wore served masses in denial.
The gentry were only gentlemen in resisting to rap on their asses,
Nails on wood planks, as delicate yet prominent as a bruise mark.
Katarina expressed her wishes to sleep with him immediately.
She must be wondering where am I going? Am I going to go?
Gone already? Not bright, if paranoid, all her talks about
Gulags and fear got a rise out of him, like they were in unison,
A camaraderie. She pleasured herself through paranoia,
A sick toy purchased from a 5 am ubiquitous sex shop
When the street urchins and doorstop drunks shore off.
Realism and fantasy. He could love her and hate her both,
That's familiarity. The dull intimacy of two people
In romance set him on edge. Romance, a dirty word,
A fast dispelling TV series, a bouquet of grave roses
And the robber who nursed them to health
By shuffling the soil. When he watched his snuff
Films he imagined a world consumed with unadulterated
Pleasure. What a horrible and creative dream.
The multitude of faces on the Bethesda terrace
Did not frighten or expose him. He was every man,
Ignorant of other's wants and concerns, clinging
To a map of Central Park.
Cat and Mouse
Little brown thing scurried soft pear shape
(I said goodbye to you because it felt that good)
Like breasts or cow stomach, like pet, little brown
Jug, recalling human form that had molested it
(if I ever recover, I wouldn't have known it to hold you)
At one point, fearing me the same. Little brown thing
(tight at your waist, man square with hair and muscle)
Ate a candy, transferring poison like sunflower oil
(something formidable like that, to see you better with my dear)
Into its throat like an ellipse, the threat of better days
(You said you'd come because it felt that good)
Over, us sitting on stools, screaming like yellow women
(scurrying like rodents to a warm shell of quality life,
which of course means never being alone, aka
What's better roaches or rats. Little brown thing's
(engaged me, killer, I'd have lied about my mold,
had you held me closer.)
Plumage dips into girl memory of hamsters
(just as hard for me as for you - )
(If you die, you were mine)
Last Tango in Paris
Why did she allow him to do that?
He took the butter a
From the rented fridge in (a) rented room,
To suit their lovemaking, cocoons of sweat a
And little persecutions, like when he took the butter a
And greasing her one then two breast, she allowed him a
To grease her back but then a
Like older men he went so far a
As to stick the stick of butter into her a
Ass hole, churning its fat wealth inside
Quickly with his fat frollicky fingers a
She, not expectant, slid with grease, pushed a
Along the rented floorboards against his hip
To belly ratio, squirmed uneasily and then screamed a
As he used the butter to his advantage while his a
Stock plummeted the little hole she called her
Own until tonight, the French cinema squirmed a
Slightly in their seats but then said to themselves,
We are expected to make these movies about love a
And derogatory sex, the way she opened herself up
Unwittingly from ‘child to woman' (a) this is the stuff a
Great things are made of. The so used butter, clumped
Along her thighs like sordid petal patterns, spread a
To dandelions and roses by his circular yet rigid a
"Humphs", why did she let him get away with it?
Why did she come back the very next night -?
Merely opened her tongue through his mouth, a?
Unfinished Yet Unwound
He always considered some universality in violence that set it up
As an explorative feature rather than a definite action.
Take for example fetishes: sex for pleasure and they want it too,
Relieves some palpable ache or earnest excitement,
The hulls of Hudson ruminated while the current pushed
A secular wave away from the loading dock, carriers'
Muscles ripped through their jersey shirts upon the carry of
A heavy load, finally unburdened and released they were up
And at em', gesturing to girl joggers about their breasts, pushing
Up against the bars like jailbirds swallowing action,
The women's breasts pushed like eager beavers, excited
By a curious breeze, unavoidable and shameful to
The shackler. A perfect crime has to be creative too,
Achieves euphoria like the swell of water or careful
Manner letting break, he didn't always get excited
But art has sinful virtues he couldn't ignore, the "up"
Redresses glory as Halloween garb, cartoonish, inactive,
He recalled her spruced spine zagged and pushed
Along stenciled wire, her clotted little hands pushing
Past his neck and into Manchurian air, paraded toward
His jawbone but missing an inch, she impregnated the action
With darker fountains and strict monuments, the Carrie
Eyelet and sad, he didn't know why she kept cupping
His face while he finished, she was saying, "hurry", as excited
As he was he couldn't finish fast enough for her to know excitement
Quite like him; he felt pushed –
Adulterated, her little hands cupping his face was pleasant yet – too
Romantic, virtuous, a step away from the master plan, up
From his usual, he wouldn't allow her to carry
The one action
That meant art for Costello. His congruent action
Delineated only slightly as excited
As the sparse air flung, he carried
Her around bits of push
And shove, the temperate Costello, not too
Quick and not too long for the Mary of his dreams.