deepundergroundpoetry.com
blues of the melancholy whores
when you’re in a place where you don’t want to be, home is a long way &
a long time gone. the meals are bad, the coffee is bitter, & you don’t
have a girl of your own. all you have is this melancholy & this whore.
I came out of the public toilet & saw her waiting in the doorway down the
hall, nude & sky-tinged. the blue light in the ceiling was soft & cool in the
warm Panamanian night.
it was in those lonely years that I believed no woman would ever love me.
when I engaged with a whore, for those moments when she held me &
we belonged to no one else, I felt loved.
as I sat on the bed, she slipped a condom on me. I touched her arm, that
was busy under my hand in the ministrations of sold sex. touched her
face, sweet, & cautious, like she thought I might hit her.
I like women, even when I don’t love them. the way they smell & the way
they look. sensual curves that fall easily to the painter’s eye & the
camera’s lens. like this woman, who was art masquerading as a prostitute.
she lies on the bed & offers me entry into this whore, this woman, this art.
she stimulates me with her hands & her Spanish obscenities, & when she
kisses & sucks on my neck, I unload my 10cc’s into the rubber barricade.
after the sex, I walked naked in that blue ghost-light to the latrine, & it
didn’t matter. in the shadow culture of whores & the strangers they
serviced, everyone is naked & faceless.
later in the bar, I contemplate the poetic irony of it –
to fornicate a whore, a blue nude,
& thereby intrude into the vaginal depths of art…
(Art: Florence Peterson)
Published 7th Nov 2016
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likes 11
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The author encourages honest critique.
7th Nov 2016 1:40am
Everyone is nameless and faceless...
Thump. Just thump, John. It's the pit of melancholy resonating its endless echo.
Thump. Just thump, John. It's the pit of melancholy resonating its endless echo.
7th Nov 2016 3:56am
'when you’re in a place where you don’t want to be, home is a long way &
a long time gone. the meals are bad, the coffee is bitter, & you don’t
have a girl of your own. all you have is this melancholy & this whore.'
Sometimes that's all we have, that moment, that place, and we keep it close, because not to, would be devastation.
The photo, a blue nude, the poetry, a lonely shade. Beautiful, John, just beautiful...
a long time gone. the meals are bad, the coffee is bitter, & you don’t
have a girl of your own. all you have is this melancholy & this whore.'
Sometimes that's all we have, that moment, that place, and we keep it close, because not to, would be devastation.
The photo, a blue nude, the poetry, a lonely shade. Beautiful, John, just beautiful...
7th Nov 2016 12:25pm
The bitter coffee kinda sums it up
People intersecting for brief moments
Transactions consummated
I really like the way you framed this John
People intersecting for brief moments
Transactions consummated
I really like the way you framed this John
8th Nov 2016 1:26pm
cream & sugar or human contact...
... i've had enough bitter coffee to love this piece just a little too much
excellence as always, mister
xo
... i've had enough bitter coffee to love this piece just a little too much
excellence as always, mister
xo
9th Nov 2016 2:18am
From the sordid to sublime in one sentence:
I came out of the public toilet & saw her waiting in the doorway down the
hall, nude & sky-tinged. the blue light in the ceiling was soft & cool in the
warm Panamanian night.
Reading of such things gives me hope. Thank you!
I came out of the public toilet & saw her waiting in the doorway down the
hall, nude & sky-tinged. the blue light in the ceiling was soft & cool in the
warm Panamanian night.
Reading of such things gives me hope. Thank you!
