Rapture of a Playboy: Redux 1-4

Bright lights expose
a circle lined with stars.

Woman shakes her booty.
I am Woman.

Feel my power sucking forth
the sweat on your forehead,
the lust in your glassy eyes.

I must suck you up
for you have emptied me.

See me naked in front of you,
smile on my face,
blood on your hands.

Vietnam burns hot,
oozing humanity in the confusion
while you only feel the fire in your belly
mimicked during flaccidity
in the missiles lining the stage
that hark how strong you are.

That I am here to serve you.

The rifle is cold between my legs.
I move it faster, warming the cold metal
and you come to me
begging for my autograph.

Men hang from apron strings in the sky,
soon dropping back to the mire
they had momentarily left behind
lost in images of my naked body
pressed with theirs.

All of them lost in greedy eyes
that have taken enough.

Fly away white rabbit,
enjoy the ride,
you won’t get very far.


Started their own war
over stolen pleasure
locked inside a surfboard.

Insanity slices the water,
dodging bullets.


Blinking white light.

Shiny dark faces scream,
“Not my war man.”


Miss December
you got some momma for me?

Listen to her breasts,
fuck her in the mud,
put on this wig.

Make me do things I don’t
want to do.

Pose me
make me beautiful.

Paint my face innocent boy
so I can fly away
while mother weeps for her son.

Kiss me son
who’s next?

** This piece was published in a small independent anthology a few years ago. I wrote it after watching the film Apocalypse Now.

Put on a : – )

I feel, am
all of the time.
Anxious terror limps along,
never far behind
(don’t let them see).
This leash of dread I have, am,
coils around my neck
squeezing out the words,
forcing a smile
(that’s better).
Noxiously, silently
it wells inside,
(you don’t have to be happy)
lips twitch & twist
like a worm under a magnifying glass
in the sun
(to smile).
The grin claims my belly too
pushes out
(let me out)
and laughs for you,
never me
(why would I do that?).
Easing down my thighs
it wrinkles my knees
(anything can smile).
Smooth dermis winks,
(except you)
making its way to the upside
down smiley moons on my toes.

the conformists

I stare deeply into my drink as he drones on about aboriginal over-representation in prisons.

He has never heard the phrase, “preaching to the converted” I bet.

He finally finishes his thought and leans forward, stabbing out his cigarette for emphasis; eases back confidently in his chair, gracefully pausing for us to comment.

We had been talking about abortion.

I instead remain transfixed by the ice cubes in my recently invigorated imbibe. I punch the cubes to look busy, and a spike catches my eye. When I was younger I used to think those little spikes that seemed to reach for the roof of the freezer formed to make it easier to pull them from the confines of their tray.

I remember wondering why they were not all so obliging as I impatiently smashed the blue tray against the counter top to free them from their cubic prison. The ones you had to bang out always broke and left behind sad little remnants that refused or were unable to let go of the icy grip of their plastic creator.

They always felt scratchy on my tongue.

I read somewhere the spikes form as the last bit of water to freeze is somehow forced out the top of the newly formed cube. As it is pushed out, it is also pulled upwards somehow and freezes; frozen in the moment of escape.

What a bummer.

I phase back into the conversation, curious as to where it has deteriorated. They were now discussing whether or not Marx would be impressed with the state of the world today and the practical applications of his theory.

Somehow I doubt it.

I look back to my drink, the spike has long since melted away, only it’s large cubic cousins remain to further dilute me. I couldn’t help but feel a little happy for it, for it was the first to melt and mingle. I felt a sudden urge to remove the remaining conformists, not wanting to be quenched by their sameness. Instead I down it, the huge cubes poking my mouth and teeth as I swallow the rebel infected liquid.

Maybe one can escape its destiny.


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