04-27-2016, 06:23 PM
THE 120 DAYS
1
getting hard to parse through people nowadays --
quite a surprise, to see
how alike all girls' asses are.
not teeth, either -- seems
they get them braces before boyfriends, as if,
to their stock, the subtleties count.
hair and eyes, perhaps? how hard their hair sticks,
how wet their eyes get -- for I've learned
it's not the air that really gets me,
it's the moans, the groans -- then the crescendo
of screams, sobs --
2
know what, this time we'll make the rules simple.
regardless of how swayed you seem,
you will die -- for in these modern days,
who isn't a convert already?
oh come on -- don't cry, not yet, not yet. our sex
still lies hidden, unready beneath the sheets.
besides, if you were really worth saving,
you'd enjoy all this -- twice we libertines
have lived and died, each time
the fires of hell
succumbing to the succulent
smell of the roast.
3
you know, one of the whores -- excuse me,
Sunday school teachers -- tells us
God also loved the smell, when he was nothing
but a child -- turned it into his consolation,
after drowning us in one of his tantrums.
I suppose that's what we're trying to capture here,
the arc of the rainbow
formed by pools of drying spunk --
one more subtlety to count. tell us,
Renata, what exactly did you do
when we married you to Sergio?
shut up. i didn't really ask you anything.
that was obvious. one more demerit.
Anubis would not enjoy this.
4
stop shivering. it's not as if
one hundred and twenty days
were not enough time to prepare.
and those nails we stuffed into your dog bowl
really turned your teeth to shit.
stop looking at that brand. Sergio deserved it,
as he was the one with the sword. you shall get
a far subtler knife -- instead of steel,
maybe a candle. and maybe
we'd stuff it up your ass,
once you're dead, let the putrefying flesh
absorb the wax.
1
getting hard to parse through people nowadays --
quite a surprise, to see
how alike all girls' asses are.
not teeth, either -- seems
they get them braces before boyfriends, as if,
to their stock, the subtleties count.
hair and eyes, perhaps? how hard their hair sticks,
how wet their eyes get -- for I've learned
it's not the air that really gets me,
it's the moans, the groans -- then the crescendo
of screams, sobs --
2
know what, this time we'll make the rules simple.
regardless of how swayed you seem,
you will die -- for in these modern days,
who isn't a convert already?
oh come on -- don't cry, not yet, not yet. our sex
still lies hidden, unready beneath the sheets.
besides, if you were really worth saving,
you'd enjoy all this -- twice we libertines
have lived and died, each time
the fires of hell
succumbing to the succulent
smell of the roast.
3
you know, one of the whores -- excuse me,
Sunday school teachers -- tells us
God also loved the smell, when he was nothing
but a child -- turned it into his consolation,
after drowning us in one of his tantrums.
I suppose that's what we're trying to capture here,
the arc of the rainbow
formed by pools of drying spunk --
one more subtlety to count. tell us,
Renata, what exactly did you do
when we married you to Sergio?
shut up. i didn't really ask you anything.
that was obvious. one more demerit.
Anubis would not enjoy this.
4
stop shivering. it's not as if
one hundred and twenty days
were not enough time to prepare.
and those nails we stuffed into your dog bowl
really turned your teeth to shit.
stop looking at that brand. Sergio deserved it,
as he was the one with the sword. you shall get
a far subtler knife -- instead of steel,
maybe a candle. and maybe
we'd stuff it up your ass,
once you're dead, let the putrefying flesh
absorb the wax.