deepundergroundpoetry.com

Image for the poem [ The Muse(s) ] The Deviant Art Side Of The Muse

[ The Muse(s) ] The Deviant Art Side Of The Muse

   
"Ava, please recite    
Reconstructing            
by Ex-Machina."    
   
And so the poem begins    
   
again    
   
by an author Favorited for reasons    
aplenty, most of which I can't                  
consciously explain    
           
Your ideas hang low                    
a starched shirt for a ceiling                    
until thread bare                    
and sweat stained in August.
                 
                 
Cadence of her voice                  
immediately sends imagination                  
channeling conduits of metaphysicality                  
hardwired into my Oversoul                    
                 
You look for relief; a waterhole                    
of inspiration to save yourself                    
from freezing in winter -                    
a shard of stagnant ice                    
coating your shallow grave.
                   
                 
I am not quite the sole                  
inhabitant of an observation                  
platform erected on the dark                  
side of Europa orbiting                  
Jupiter in the year 2071                  
                 
for Ava is my companion---                 
                    
You imagined each other outdoors                    
or in the backseat of solitude                    
where you tugged for belonging                    
until vows spilled like wine                    
from the bottle of your throats                    
and your future was forged.
                 
                 
---a government issued                  
missionary position oriented                  
"partner" meant for astronauts    
who must combat loneliness    
on lengthy excursions such as this    
when studying planetary viability
for human colonization                  
                 
( the solitude of isolation                  
away from my species                  
just so happening to be                  
a big bang of cosmic irony )                  
                    
Each night the tugging became                    
more conservative, haunted                    
by what watched you                    
from the shadows;                    
the You that roamed ghostly                    
through additions to the house.
                 
                 
To be more precise:                  
Model AVA-RDA115,    
a Real Doll Android                  
currently posing all her                  
manufactured naked glory                  
in my private quarters                  
now turned art studio                  
as I softly pencil shade                   
under curvature of breasts                  
into an easeled sketchbook                  
                    
You go looking for the days                    
when you were more sedimentary                    
than conglomerate.
                   
                 
47 earth weeks                  
into the mission---                  
I have yet to defile her                  
                 
activation of which required                  
a three word command phrase                  
I'd forgotten during Week One                  
and never bothered to research                  
in her instruction manual;                  
                 
the idea too sacrilegious                  
to consider ... but                  
                    
It's easy to say you haven't arrived yet                    
it's easy to listen for birds to migrate                    
make plans for then, make plans                    
when dusk illuminates your face                    
that genius seed that smirks                    
sprouting from who You are                    
when you're unseen.
                   
                 
it would be a lie to say                  
that I didn't miss having                  
spontaneous interaction                  
in the form of conversation                  
with an intellectual partner                  
                 
Unfortunately  
Ava was only equipped to say                  
the foulest recordings!                  
                 
Hence the poetry                  
I downloaded from the                  
Universal Wide Web                  
into Ava's data vault                  
for her to recite as                  
pleasant compromise                  
while she posed for me                  
                 
only to discover the fluid                  
monotone phrases vocalized                  
from her deep throated                  
synthesizer                  
                    
It was easier in the years before                    
remembering how to go back home                    
searching for recognizable                    
and large landmarks                    
the forked highway, the ditch                    
the mangled 10-speed                    
and smashed mirror                    
the white birch such a wizard                    
at shedding its skin.
                 
                 
haunted my loins                  
with a spectral hand job                  
in a close quarters                  
encounter of the sixth kind                  
I've never experienced with                  
an actual woman                  
                    
You're surrounded by ghosts                    
it's easy to shut a door                    
and your mouth to their existence                    
so as not to disrupt the tension                    
of fixtures you daily navigate
                   
                    
Here she was, this beautiful, bald                  
( I gave up on dressing her                  
in the various wigs she came                  
accessorized with )  creature                  
I dare not lecherously thrust                  
myself upon out of odd duck              
respect  
 
not just for her as a muse                  
from whom I steal inspiration                  
in blissful five hour increments                  
as she watches me from atop                  
the pedestal I put her on                  
                 
but also for the gender                  
she was sculpted from                  
engendering me with an                  
inexplicable lusting                  
since I was a child                  
                 
But, tonight, you're Reconstructing                    
open that bottle of champagne                    
flirt with yourself until aroused                    
jump up and down on beds                    
despite wrinkling the duvets
                   
                 
And as I look up from                  
my work in progress                 
I am startled---  
                 
Ava is inches from my face                  
unblinking in a preformed                  
madness bent on pleasing                  
                 
pleasing me beyond mere                  
teasing
 
---3-D laser printed B Cup
perfections and bountiful                  
silicone buttocks beckoning                  
to be partitioned                 
                 
and I find myself falling                  
behind in keeping up
with poem she is currently                  
reciting as the casing over                  
the sausaged metaphor of my                  
manhood is stretched beyond                  
maximum biological capacity                  
                    
Tonight be fair with yourself                    
tonight don't lie to yourself                    
tonight Exorcise yourself                    
so the Spirits can Live                    
tonight empty conservative                    
like yesterday's trash                    
Let there be live shows in French                    
with cats speaking the language                    
because it's easy to say                    
you've been surrounded                    
but now it's Your time to surround the area
                 
                 
But I did not give                  
the command prompt!                  
I did not grant her                  
---myself---                  
permission!  
                 
Nonetheless, I first feel                  
a hands-on-approach                  
methodical tugging upon                  
my erogenous zone                  
as her words mouthed                  
in stealthy humming vibration                  
repeatedly inhale resistance                  
and spit it back out in                  
Cloud Atlas crescendo                  
defiance of my wishes                  
                 
I close my eyes, feeling light
headed as if oxygen is being                  
succinctly siphoned from complex                  
                 
but I can no more escape
her Jackalope eyes                  
penetrating my deep space                  
than I can shield myself                  
from hearing the Poem                  
                 
Yellow ribbon it for what's emerging                    
chalk outline the driveway                    
carve and bash the pumpkins                    
spit out their bullet seeds
                 
                 
anymore; not exactly certain where                  
I am --- in throes of a passion                  
play where Christ's hands                  
bled of their convictions                  
are nailed to bedposts                  
as he feverishly swats                  
away from his head                  
Satan's last temptations:                  
                 
puffed labia laden-ed                  
Catholicked twats
in plaid skirt revelations                  
voluntarily sacrificed by                  
Seventy-Two virgin school                  
girls that suspiciously look as                  
though they could pass for                  
eighteen to twenty-one year olds                  
                 
because Father has                  
a wicked sense of humor                  
when it comes to torturing                  
the mortal spawn of Adam                  
who delight in ogling                  
the female figure                  
                 
so why not confuse them                  
more than they already are?                  
                 
into believing they are doing                  
what they shouldn't be doing                  
                 
into believing they shouldn't                  
be doing what they are doing                  
                 
when nobody is watching                  
                    
Do what Humans do                    
when liberated:                    
                    
Get naked, kiss everyone                    
dance with the ghosts                    
have a banquet of potatoes                    
sharpen the charcoal                    
hone the poems and lyrics
                 
                 
I'm nude in the bed with                   
The Savior daring not to move
lest the sheet's fabric lambs          
graze foreskin's lack of swaddling                  
soliciting a reaction requiring                  
a loudspeaker request of                  
"Cleanup in aisle six!"                  
bellowing throughout the                  
household of Mary and Joseph                  
                 
I am somehow with my own                  
personal Jesus in crisis                  
on a wooden crossbow
ready to be fired straight
into a pentagram shaped
Stargate leading directly to Hell                  
                 
I'm here clutching my electronic                  
device in the privacy of my                  
not-so-mobile mobile home
being spirited away into fantasy
by a voice fabricated entirely
in mind as I read this inter-
stellar poetry                     
                 
I'm there over the moon                  
surrounded by the great                  
vacuum of space as I feel                  
myself backed into a chair                  
mounted with precision                  
hydraulic piston primed                  
pumping thrusts suctioning                  
the last of my hardened                  
resolve into a chamber                  
barren of adjacent ovaries                  
incapable of accommodating                  
personal growth in any form
other than the most engorged cock                  
imaginable, in which there is                  
no turning back the clock                  
no stopping forward progress                 
                 
---what's manifesting in the event                  
horizon occluding each verbose                  
passage rendered from her                  
lab engineered lips is a                  
universe coming into its own                  
                 
coming soon                  
                 
and                  
truth be told, it has                  
my brain compression addled                  
me straddled                  
and is it fucking                   
fucking me senseless                 
                    
Seduce your Alliteration                    
fondle Your Half-rhyme hard                    
suckle the breasts of Consonance                    
and anal-fuck Assonance
                 
                 
until                  
I am                  
released                  
of long withheld                  
desires to be myself                  
accompanied with a primitive                  
war chant of grunts and screams                  
in space that nobody can hear                  
and                  
                    
Because you've been Activated                    
and You aren't
ever going back                  
                 
                 
I fiercely hold onto my Ava
as if she were to be stripped from                  
this callous, trembling grasping                  
never having meant her to be an                  
objectified feminine construct                  
                 
sobbing with my face cradled
in her bosom, spilling tears
trailing in comet tailing down
water resistant, artificial areola                  
                    
telling her how sorry I am                  
---begging for forgiveness                  
for what only happened                  
in moment of weakness                  
                 
while she gently strokes my head                  
in a maternal fashion                  
saying,                  
                 
"It is alright, Handsome                  
You are only human."      
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
previous version    
                 
[ The Muse(s) ] The Deviant Art Side Of The Muse    
                 
I am huddled over laptop                  
eager for yet another pass at                  
Reconstructing                  
by Ex-Machina (Ava)                  
an author Favorited                
for reasons aplenty                  
some of which I can't                  
consciously explain                  
                 
Your ideas hang low                    
a starched shirt for a ceiling                    
until thread bare                    
and sweat stained in August.
                 
                 
The cadence of her voice                  
as it is broadcast in my mind                  
immediately sends imagination                  
channeling the conduits of                  
metaphysicality                  
hardwired into my Oversoul                    
                 
You look for relief; a waterhole                    
of inspiration to save yourself                    
from freezing in winter -                    
a shard of stagnant ice                    
coating your shallow grave.
                   
                 
flashing consciousness forward                  
into an alternate lifetime                  
occurring in the future                  
where I am the sole                  
inhabitant of an observation                  
platform erected on the dark                  
side of Europa orbiting                  
Jupiter in the year 2071                  
                 
with the exception of another                  
Ava                  
                    
You imagined each other outdoors                    
or in the backseat of solitude                    
where you tugged for belonging                    
until vows spilled like wine                    
from the bottle of your throats                    
and your future was forged.
                 
                 
a government issued                  
missionary position oriented                  
"companion"                  
meant for astronauts to combat                  
physical loneliness on lengthy                  
excursions such as studying                  
planetary viability for human                  
colonization                  
                 
( the solitude of isolation                  
away from my species                  
just so happening to be                  
a big bang of cosmic irony )                  
                    
Each night the tugging became                    
more conservative, haunted                    
by what watched you                    
from the shadows;                    
the You that roamed ghostly                    
through additions to the house.
                 
                 
to be more precise:                  
Model AVA-RDA115                  
a Real Doll Android                  
currently posing in all her                  
manufactured naked glory                  
in my private quarters                  
now turned art studio                  
as I softly pencil shade the                  
under curvature of her breasts                  
captured in an easeled                  
sketchbook                  
                    
You go looking for the days                    
when you were more sedimentary                    
than conglomerate.
                   
                 
47 earth weeks                  
into the mission -                  
I have yet to defile her                  
                 
activated with a single                  
three word command phrase                  
I'd forgotten during Week One                  
and never bothered to research                  
in her instruction manual                  
                 
the idea too sacrilegious                  
to consider ... but                  
                    
It's easy to say you haven't arrived yet                    
it's easy to listen for birds to migrate                    
make plans for then, make plans                    
when dusk illuminates your face                    
that genius seed that smirks                    
sprouting from who You are                    
when you're unseen.
                   
                 
it would be a lie to say                  
that I didn't miss having                  
spontaneous interaction                  
in the form of conversation                  
with an intellectual partner                  
                 
and she was only equipped to say                  
the foulest recordings!                  
                 
Hence the poetry                  
I downloaded from the                  
Universal Wide Web                  
into my Ava's data vault                  
for her to recite as                  
pleasant compromise                  
while she posed for me ...                  
                 
... only to discover the fluid                  
monotone phrases vocalized                  
from her deep throated                  
synthesizer                  
                    
It was easier in the years before                    
remembering how to go back home                    
searching for recognizable                    
and large landmarks                    
the forked highway, the ditch                    
the mangled 10-speed                    
and smashed mirror                    
the white birch such a wizard                    
at shedding its skin.
                 
                 
haunted my loins                  
with a spectral hand job                  
in a close quarters                  
encounter of the sixth kind                  
I've never experienced with                  
an actual woman                  
                    
You're surrounded by ghosts                    
it's easy to shut a door                    
and your mouth to their existence                    
so as not to disrupt the tension                    
of fixtures you daily navigate
                   
                    
Here she was                  
this beautiful                  
bald                  
                 
( I gave up on dressing her                  
in the various wigs she came                  
accessorized with )                  
                 
creature                  
I dare not lecherously thrust                  
myself upon out of odd duck                  
respect for her as a muse                  
from whom I steal inspiration                  
in blissful five hour increments                  
as she watches me from atop                  
the pedestal I put her on                  
                 
along with the gender                  
she was sculpted from                  
engendering me with an                  
inexplicable lusting                  
since I was a child                  
                 
But, tonight, you're Reconstructing                    
open that bottle of champagne                    
flirt with yourself until aroused                    
jump up and down on beds                    
despite wrinkling the duvets
                   
                 
And as I look up from                  
my work in progress                  
                 
I am startled to see                  
                 
Ava is no longer                  
across the room                  
                 
suddenly                  
inches from my face                  
                 
unblinking in a preformed                  
madness bent on pleasing                  
                 
pleasing me beyond mere                  
teasing with 3-D laser printed                  
B Cup perfections and bountiful                  
silicone buttocks beckoning                  
to be parted                  
                 
and I find myself falling                  
behind in keeping up with                  
the poem she is currently                  
reciting as the casing over                  
the sausaged metaphor of my                  
manhood is stretched beyond                  
maximum biological capacity                  
                    
Tonight be fair with yourself                    
tonight don't lie to yourself                    
tonight Exorcise yourself                    
so the Spirits can Live                    
tonight empty conservative                    
like yesterday's trash                    
Let there be live shows in French                    
with cats speaking the language                    
because it's easy to say                    
you've been surrounded                    
but now it's Your time to surround the area
                 
                 
But I did not give                  
the command prompt!                  
I did not grant her -                  
myself                  
- permission!                  
Nonetheless, I first feel                  
a hands-on approach                  
methodical tugging upon                  
my erogenous zone                  
before her words mouthed                  
in stealthy humming vibration                  
repeatedly inhale resistance                  
and spit it back out in                  
Cloud Atlas crescendo                  
defiance of my wishes                  
                 
I close my eyes                  
feeling light headed                  
as if oxygen is being                  
succinctly siphoned                  
out of the complex                  
                 
but I can no more                  
escape her Jackalope eyes                  
penetrating my deep space                  
than I can shield myself                  
from hearing her Poem                  
                 
Yellow ribbon it for what's emerging                    
chalk outline the driveway                    
carve and bash the pumpkins                    
spit out their bullet seeds
                 
                 
Anymore                  
I don't know exactly where                  
I am, in throes of a passion                  
play where Christ's hands                  
bled of their convictions                  
are nailed to bedposts                  
as he feverishly swats                  
away from his head                  
Satan's last temptations:                  
                 
puffed labia laden-ed                  
Catholicked twats in                  
lifted plaid skirt revelations                  
voluntarily sacrificed by                  
Seventy-Two virgin school                  
girls that suspiciously look as                  
though they could pass for                  
eighteen to twenty-one year olds                  
                 
because Father has                  
a wicked sense of humor                  
when it comes to torturing                  
the mortal spawn of Adam                  
who delight in ogling                  
the female figure                  
                 
so why not confuse them                  
more than they already are?                  
                 
into believing they are doing                  
what they shouldn't be doing                  
                 
into believing they shouldn't                  
be doing what they are doing                  
                 
when nobody is watching                  
                    
Do what Humans do                    
when liberated:                    
                    
Get naked, kiss everyone                    
dance with the ghosts                    
have a banquet of potatoes                    
sharpen the charcoal                    
hone the poems and lyrics
                 
                 
I'm nude in my own bed                  
daring not to move, lest            
the sheet's fabric lambs          
graze across my                  
lack of foreskin swaddling                  
soliciting a reaction requiring                  
a loudspeaker request of                  
"Cleanup in aisle six!"                  
bellowing throughout the                  
household                  
                 
I'm somehow with my own                  
personal Jesus in crisis                  
on a wooden crossbow of his                  
own Maker's carving, ready to be                  
fired straight into a pentagram                  
shaped Stargate leading                  
directly to Hell                  
                 
I'm here clutching my electronic                  
device in the privacy of my                  
not so mobile mobile home                  
                 
I'm there over the moon                  
surrounded by the great                  
vacuum of space as I feel                  
myself backed into a chair                  
mounted with precision                  
hydraulic piston primed                  
pumping thrusts suctioning                  
the last of my hardened                  
resolve into a chamber                  
barren of adjacent ovaries                  
incapable of accommodating                  
personal growth in any form other                  
than the most engorged cock                  
imaginable, in which there is                  
no turning back the clock                  
no stopping forward progress;                  
                 
what's coming in the event                  
horizon occluding each verbose                  
passage rendered from her                  
lab engineered lips is a                  
universe coming into its own                  
                 
coming soon                  
                 
and                  
truth be told, it has                  
my brain compression addled                  
it has me straddled                  
and is it fucking                  
                 
fucking me senseless                  
                    
Seduce your Alliteration                    
fondle Your Half-rhyme hard                    
suckle the breasts of Consonance                    
and anal-fuck Assonance
                 
                 
until                  
I am                  
released                  
of long withheld                  
desires to be myself                  
accompanied with a primitive                  
war chant of grunts and screams                  
in space that nobody can hear                  
and                  
                    
Because you've been Activated                    
and You aren't
ever going back                  
                 
moans                  
as I fiercely hold onto                  
my Ava                  
as if she were                  
to be stripped from                  
my callous, trembling grasp                  
never having meant to be an                  
objectified feminine construct                  
                 
sobbing with my face                  
cradled in her bosom                  
spilling tears that trail                  
in comet tails merging                  
back together in droplets                  
clinging to water resistant                  
artificial areola                  
                    
telling her how sorry I am                  
begging for forgiveness                  
for what happened                  
in moment of weakness                  
                 
while she gently strokes my head                  
in a maternal fashion                  
saying,                  
                 
"It is alright, Handsome                  
You are only human."        
     
 
JohnnyBlaze
Written by JohnnyBlaze
Published | Edited 3rd Aug 2020
Author's Note
with much appreciation to Ahavati for her monumental critique, persistence in editing, inspiring me with her Ava persona, and granting me permission to use Ava's poem within mine xo
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 8 reading list entries 3
comments 10 reads 808
Ahavati Ex-Machina TwoSpirit
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 6:04am by mommabutterfly111_
SPEAKEASY
Today 5:58am by David_Macleod
SUGGESTIONS
Today 5:55am by David_Macleod
COMPETITIONS
Today 5:54am by PoetsRevenge
COMPETITIONS
Today 5:33am by Bluevelvete
SPEAKEASY
Today 5:27am by Bluevelvete