PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Concrete girl. Character out of an Ayn Rand novel – she designs the edifice and pours the cement in between steel rods. The biggest erection. The thought enters my mind as I have her in my mouth. The dog. The smell. The taste. Stale. I gag for a second but I can’t be stopped by any thought under the sun. I’m a hollow being now in this moment and discourses whistle through me like wind in the straw. I’m not the catcher in the rye anymore. The carousel is switched off and the park is closed, but the carnies gather in a back room to drink and indulge in a bit of the old ultraviolence. The smell. The taste. She keeps flowing on like a sulphurous spring underneath the burbs of Vancouver. I forget where I am for a minute and imagine I’m buried under a ten tonne dome. Her face changes. It’s Janine Melnitz. "Ghostbusters. Yeah, whaddya want?" Her feet are tattooed and painted black. Strength through suffering, says the tattoo. The family motto. The art I’d like to master, if the pleasures don’t kill me first. Taking risks, I’m taking it on down for another blind landing. The smell. The taste. I come like the tide is roaring out of me as the full moon crashes toward the sea, not like I usually do. The basement darkness smells like dog. Tastes like the end. I can’t find my way out of this again.