Love : A Study In The Chemically Altered States Of Love And Lust And The Fine Line Between Them
The Olive Man : The after taste of a love song
You stood before me , dark eyes like ripe olives , palms turned up then brought down -contorted like forgotten roots. Your heart – a lubricated battle cry.
My mouth watered at the thought of tasting those tears . The salt of your body I knew as a second skin was screaming to me : ” Bite me , for I’m a fallen man”.
The fallen speak in direct tongue in attempt to ennounciate breath, heart palipitations . The ringing of the inner cochlea . The fallen move in shadows, are found in the assembly lines of socialism. Sacrificing the indiviual for a taste of mediocrity – blank canvases , empty galleries, charities for the ego – politicians for the id.
I have not fallen , infact , I am not a species you are accustomed to : here I stand – a dream incubator , a fiber-optic nervous system , a perverse dogma of vanity with tin heart, intact . ” I am angry because it is hateful.”
I do not believe in many things , not your god or his, nor the pagan varaities dug into the earth with equal desperation. I do not believe in the spindly altars of oil we kneel before , bullets in our teeth . I do not believe in love – I love nothing -to love is to disfigure- a leprosy of the soul- a chemical imbalance- a stepping stone to what that body hungers and the mind has already feasted upon.
I believe in the fine art of longing . The way it strikes the back bone and wrecklessly hurtles itself into the folds of the brain. The careful tailorship of true want pulling at the hem of one’s peacoat – an irritating dog, shamelessly mounting , breeding and foaming through the fangs . The wild beast off her chain prowling your lawn,
Pages: 1 2