Revision 3
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the ephemeral challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was always the foreplay
of card tricks, the predictable appetites
of birthday-entertainers
with store-bought illusions.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Magic’s raw essence is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into this baptism
of black water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is unsatisfying—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private. The thrill
was in being exposed.
~~~
Revision 2
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the exquisite challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was, of course, the foreplay
of card tricks, the predictable appetites
of birthday-entertainers
with store-bought illusions.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Magic's raw essence is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into this baptism
of black water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is seldom desirable—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private.
The thrill was
in being exposed.
~~~
Revision 1
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties
sold near tattoo parlors.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the exquisite challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was of course the foreplay
of card tricks, the predictable appetites
of birthday-entertainers
with store-bought illusions.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Without risk, it is unsatisfying.
magic in its raw
essence is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into this baptism
of black water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is seldom desirable—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private.
The thrill was in being
before an audience exposed.
~~~
Original
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties
sold near tattoo parlors.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the exquisite challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was of course the foreplay
of card tricks,
the predictable patterns
of other men.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Without risk, it is unsatisfying.
Remember,
magic is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into the dark
water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is seldom desirable—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private.
The thrill was in being
before an audience exposed.
~~~
(This is my first edit from the poetry practice exercise).
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the ephemeral challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was always the foreplay
of card tricks, the predictable appetites
of birthday-entertainers
with store-bought illusions.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Magic’s raw essence is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into this baptism
of black water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is unsatisfying—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private. The thrill
was in being exposed.
~~~
Revision 2
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the exquisite challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was, of course, the foreplay
of card tricks, the predictable appetites
of birthday-entertainers
with store-bought illusions.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Magic's raw essence is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into this baptism
of black water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is seldom desirable—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private.
The thrill was
in being exposed.
~~~
Revision 1
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties
sold near tattoo parlors.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the exquisite challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was of course the foreplay
of card tricks, the predictable appetites
of birthday-entertainers
with store-bought illusions.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Without risk, it is unsatisfying.
magic in its raw
essence is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into this baptism
of black water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is seldom desirable—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private.
The thrill was in being
before an audience exposed.
~~~
Original
He liked to be handcuffed—
and not with those
fuzzy pink novelties
sold near tattoo parlors.
He liked the ones that bite
against the wrists,
the exquisite challenge
of something like helplessness.
There was of course the foreplay
of card tricks,
the predictable patterns
of other men.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Without risk, it is unsatisfying.
Remember,
magic is misdirection.
Showing off a new spectacle,
suspended upside down,
bound and lowered
into the dark
water. Each second
like the pulse of a metronome,
the faint ripple of eternity.
Escape while possible,
is seldom desirable—
not the same as release.
Any amateur could perform
in private.
The thrill was in being
before an audience exposed.
~~~
(This is my first edit from the poetry practice exercise).
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
. Great read
