deepundergroundpoetry.com
Feed [the witch hunt]
They enter [muted]
the room drops silver chimes
announcing the black bride waltz
her blonde hair slashed short
teased into a bloody bouquet
of severed serpent heads
her charcoal eyes weep
into a skeleton hand obscuring her face
flamingo legs step stones in stilettoes
echoing the stabbing death of atmosphere
the bearded man in her wake
appears misplaced and unkempt
he pauses on the threshold
thinking if he should turn away
and melt into the [december] sun
but he has nowhere to go, now
it’s too late… no regrets
are the words that flicker
in the holes in his head
I show them to a table for two
but she shakes her head
like a feeding shark
and points to the booth by the bar
the unlikely couple sit in opposing corners
curiosity strung from nervous tension
watching the grinning time bomb
waiting for the alcohol to explode
and when spirits lubricate their flow, a posse
of nightmare clowns emerge from the shadows
ranting at pictures lining the restaurant walls
[possessed] with flirts of laughter
the couple finger each other’s scars
until she exposes her heart
scribed in his words with [invisible] ink…
so it can glow in the dark
like the cheshire cat, she grins
table top dancing appropriately undressed
his date begins to slow grind the air
feeding on his raw unseasoned face
while patrons feast on the debauchery
served precariously in salt and pepper lines
the enigma [chef] appears in a lick of flames
flexed cannons, blazing technicolour arms
the slick beast breathing cuban plumes
with anabolic veins injecting junk into his brain
[i]when I see his blade I know
he’s her cutter, hunting me down
because I dared to dream of cutting her free
cornered in the booth, across the girl
I thought I knew, she now thrives
in chanting curse to her lonely muse
saving nothing but a stolen face
poison lips and perfect tits
[&] so the masterpiece
of her catastrophe unfolds
the cutter pinning me down onto nine alters
with the blade of her killer, cutting me open
like a fish, I’m gutted, my carcass thrown down
onto the ground, so the clowns
from the shadows can feed
as I die in honour
grinning at the beauty
of her mess.
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