Saturday, June 10, 2006

THIS POEM IS A WORK OF FICTION

The following is fictious. Any similarity to anyone, living or dead, is purely unintentional.

“Flesh”

By Billy Ruffian

I did not hear her
As my blood boiled behind my eyes
When the red mist descends
I do not decide what it is I do
Mescaline, the only way to fly,
With subterranean champagne
Foamed away in my belly
That formerly held mimosa in the morning
That became adrenaline in the chamber of my heart
My heart, an extremely professional pump
Palpitated pure palatine fantasy through my soul
Back, back, back, back…. To Messalina and Gaius Caligula
At the very heart of Satan’s midnight ball
Seeing what Bulgakov saw not
Swimming seductively in seas of Brandy
Supple and supine bodies of the deep dark
Who changed my body to cacti flowers
And my blood to whiskey-scotch
Served to 12 cutthroats, murderers and thieves
I was eaten and enjoyed for I was Jupiter
Best and greatest of all men
Young Caesar at my right hand
Young Custer at my left
Francisco Franco as my footstool
With Czar Nicholas as my squire
Manichean machines manufactured
My many followers
And all was right with the world
I was perfect, my bones were gilded hashish
And my eyes were shining azure ecstasy
My reasoned and wise words
Held all the greatest spirits
But then my sweetheart
Woke me from my sights
I’ll never know why, for she’ll never tell
I saw myself as flesh. FLESH?!
No Jupiter had I been
So I punished her for the truth she had shown
By taking the life’s breath from her chest
For I was foolish Ulysses and she was a mere Penelope
She asked me why, for she was my only friend
She did not fight back. She died.
I did not hear her
When my blood boiled behind my eyes
When the red mist descends
I do not decide what it is I do
Though you are never supposed to hurt the one you love
I did indeed hurt myself greatly.

4 Comments:

Blogger The Hek said...

Good stuff, Billy. See if you can get that published in a Lit Mag.

6:06 p.m.  
Blogger The Hek said...

Brosky! Thanks for the wonderful comments. But what do you mean you're no good with words? You're a poet.

11:38 a.m.  
Blogger The Hek said...

Bro-sky: a russian style/way of saying Brother! I heard Will Smith say it once

5:45 p.m.  
Blogger evenstar said...

I was perfect, my bones were gilded hashish
And my eyes were shining azure ecstasy


fantastic image
is this beauty
... a cautionary tale?

2:59 a.m.  

Post a Comment

<< Home