Sunday, November 1, 2015

Smoke-Begotten Nothingness

She felt his eyes on her
boring deep below the skin.
It woke her up from her
still-life composition,
and in the darkness
all seemed strangely real.
She had been wearing only fur
but, responding to urges within,
became the one thing sure
to excite him, to reposition
him in the fleeting starkness
of mere existence where to feel
was like dying must be. A blur
of life passing quickly from sin
to sin, mostly within the sure
flow of breath and of procreation
for the sake of rebirthing likeness
ad nauseum.  Not just to conceal
but indeed to reveal sameness per
the requirements of the universe in
which they found some allure.
Their ship had landed in a competition!
It was the utlimate sport, a quirkiness
in which all were nude, without even a meal.

Her nipples shot out
in complete erectness,
sensing they were not alone
and indeed they were not.
On this planet they were the deadly,
the innocent, the placated.
Now there wss certainly no doubt,
many eyes gazed at her nakedness.
Complete and utter revelation, her own
tendency towards decay and rot
temporarily suspended.  Readily,
she all but dedicated
herself to their satisfaction without
which this world would digress
into that which they all had sown
when they smoked all the pot.
Stoned, they all stumbled steadily
towards a far pink horizon, situated
on top of a miles high redoubt.
Connected by a general feckleness,
they morphed into the shape of a cone
and bored their way along.  Not
because they wanted to, but otherworldly
practices made them tranquil and domesticated.

mindbringer, 31 October 2015