The hummingbird’s flapping feathers.
The ocean’s hysteria; echoes of neglected children.
A barring Telephone. On the other side
A voice shook the recorder, and it screeched
My purple skirt squelched, my jump suit tightened.
I held the telephone firmly,
But gently to not pick the rumbles of a thundering pieces.
On the other end; the echoes of death do I hear
What he heard was a rearing thunderclap.
A knuckle; impetus, knocking my rib cage
Ether; on many hurdles; jumped.
Finally what I saw was angels spreading the welcome mat.
Anus foamed; stomach tightened; never to bear a child
A sullen thought dashed through this alley of ignorance.
Sumptuous saliva swallowed and dipped in shoal
Noose; where have I seen my savior?
In the attic downstairs? Or in the shallow ground beneath?
First floor; I see the air breathing but I found my savior not.
Second floor; the ocean staring: molded with ridicule.
Third floor; back to my pose: scorning decorum
I lingered on: savior delayed.
Thoughts; I sauntered into.
The air clearly was dark and its content; greenish
Tequila had been wounded and thrown by Bartenders into its coffin.
I was with Allison and the light; velvet blue; bloody red; innocent green.
It’s a bar; of angels lurking around as men poked their lips
With desperation, and sweats breaking from pleasure.
At the dark, at the back; it was ju-jitsu.
I moaned but they danced to the pleasure of my anguish.
Their manhood poking and rehearsing its steps behind.
The doctor with heavy sigh which shook the earth
Has spoken; with joggling livers; halitosis; then with gyration
He had mumbled the words which read as though
Thunder had reared; Seas deaf.
My womb is a shell which now accommodates seeds for the latrine.
There you are. Exquisite rope; my savior.
The fan bellowed. Then with my hand on the switch
It whizzed for a moment and finally laid to rest.
Let the man who watches at day and with long shiny stars see this sphere
Sits on his robust stool with a brown gavel.
Dear Creator, here I come.
My legs dribbled around, the stool stood and scorned my soul.
“Anita!” the language of the heavenly hosts; I thought it was Greek
A letter written with sweats breaking off your face
And your loins disconcerted; as your tongue is knighted.
What I saw were the blurs of stucked memories.
And men who walked with pointed needles; a noose that kept someone alive
I see again Allison; who in tears has tasted the loss of losing a true friend to ignorance.
Her scream scared my testicles.
A man with a white cloak came with a grin; Allison’s face carved into smile