I. Lolita Transient
Overnight takes on new meaning
when the sun never sets and will never rise.
This time i didn’t bring words, i brought lines.
And Esmeralda danced circles around my eyes.
You gypsy vixen You.
Leading me confused,
with knees low and back hunched,
into a labyrinth of solitude.
Embarrassed of what exactly?
i’ve barred scars more deep than scars
like profound pools of black sticky tar
that almost suffocates with its gluttony
and still You wouldn’t look away.
And now i pay a price as images intertwine
creating zebra patterned designs
on the alcoves of my mind.
Black, White
They contrast in spite of the connection.
and I wear this contrast like an emblem,
hanging from my throat,
heavy on my heart.
yet with the delicate touch of some
slippery silvery chain…
It almost rids me of the pain.
Back turned or give me the front,
i still want either way.
A petrifying carnival of desire,
making my eyes tire of this display
and my lips itching to play,
a lilac purple tongue,
and bronze arms on the way.
You feign revolution by shutting the door in my face.
A shuddering sigh and flutter of a heart,
as caged ribs start to part,
liberated room for more,
i’ve become an emotional whore,
lips wet with anticipation,
pulsating with a passion,
that You defined as infatuation.
And that i just couldn’t define.
-or rather-
defined as a transition in time.
Lolita Transients would abstractive-ly be the best,
but the abstract, once put to the test,
floats past concrete lines,
and creates a world of its own where, even as a stranger,
i feel right at home.
Lioness of the abstract dome.
Razor sharp You
sliced a tingling into the souls of my feet,
and week after week i did nothing but smile at my own loss
of balance.
The feminine reemerging as the phallus,
and the phallus in comfort with its feminine home.
i patiently wait for my Special Kinder Surprise,
and meanwhile,
satisfy myself with imagination,
to which an interpretation,
would require the use of a million scholarly texts,
which still wouldn’t attest to this degree
Of Vulgarity,
or this degree
Of Sexuality,
or this degree
Of Spirituality.
Like the slaughter of fowl for mythological pride;
You hide behind an altar,
and with all the holiness i posses,
I intend to pull through and impress with Determination.
--and the petrifying realization—
that You are Artemis and i soon to be set upon by the hound
- choking ego to the ground.
But damn, it was worth it.
worth the,
vulnerability
worth the,
audacity
worth the,
ecstasy,
-It naturally dissolved within me.
Only to be pushed down by an incessant flipping of the door,
an incessant call to reality.
is the overnight truly Over?
—or pray mercy and tell me its begun.
The rising Sun seems determined to puncture the fun,
And the valiant battle with Apollo seems already to have been won.
II. Lolita Ensnared
I’m getting tired of this shit.
A tantrum fit as if we were kids of three.
Stomping on adult realized priorities.
We wear our hair like a mask,
we analyze our clothes,
personify the persona we wish to adapt,
and commend that same personal persona
complimenting its research studied aura.
--I’d rather stay in this dream forever.
(you judged me by my hair
yet remained unaware
to what it masked.)
Please don’t preach to me about consideration.
The obliteration of that term in action shocks me.
Truth be told?—I’m quite Angry, and I feel used,
Yes, believe it or not, Abused.
Infiltrated and Dominated.
And I am a Leo at heart.
So to part with my throne will only be met with roars of defense;
to be direct, Aggressiveness.
My interlude is met with seclusion—
isolation to the utmost degree—
and I see that the world agrees, as I’m met
with a phone with no tone
and a power-cut of electricity,
while the world contracts visibly
and the static in the air
ensnares my fiery wrath,
and storms overhead
are weighed down with
anxiety and dread
that express themselves
in raindrops, that I lovingly
call tears.
I fear this is me at my limit---
And I exhibit nothing but ferocious gloom.
This room which contains me is not enough,
And I will huff
And I will puff
Until the walls come down.
And the only sound to be heard,
is the numbing effect of silence.
My Rifle stands ready to be shot and plunge through that stubborn heart
of yours until it is rejected or until the reflected opinion dominates. Is it
too much to ask for a change of heart?
Empathy? Understanding?
Basic societ-ical handling?
Apparently yes.
So I detest
having to put in.
The waterworks that I display
convey nothing but submission
to your inconsideration.
And the devil in me crosses her fingers
for experience by example,
as elephants trample over logic
and the symbolic is simply symbolic.
That’s too much reason for my taste.
And I see that it was a waste
Trying to impress with determination.
Lolita Ensnared has denied a nation of people their feelings,
listening, with unappealing resolution
satisfying herself with this conclusion:
“Let them eat Cake.”
--It’s true.
You can’t have your cake and eat it too.
III. Lolita Verbalize
On a park bench it took me quite by surprise,
my eyes met with scripture
recognizable though not to my hand,
the band on my finger tightened and
yet the anger seized.
-- How could I not have surmised Lolita Verbalize to enlighten me?--
“Your Majesty;
I owe you My Apology-
And I couldn’t be sorrier for my selfish self
has decided to rest after this long period.
For She was too busy
trying to make you feel safe and home
--She was too busy trying to suppress her fucked up
whipped cream so that you can have you cake and eat it too—
But She failed.
You believe Lolita is selfish,
then I’m afraid you never knew Lolita.
--Lolita loved you with wide arms open and she
Was pleased to meet you.
She hopes it was a useful transition for You.
.THE END.
The Lolita”