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Feb 2014
transducer -
a device that receives a signal in the form of one type of energy and converts it to a signal in another form: A microphone is a transducer that converts acoustic energy into electrical impulses

~~~~~~~~~
so many names,
none of them, kind,
none of them, nice words

The A, The B, The C word.

she would laugh and mock a spite and spittle filled man's
feeble curses and flit off to
charge her battery, steal electric life,
from a new outlet, another male body.

now a queen bee, regaling me,
her private audience,
with takes and tales,
of newly arrived
used up worker-boys,
her pleasure sources,
discards after a
singed single discharging/recharging

why come back to me,
what perversity,
did I supply?

she was elegant,
not stupid mean,
she was royal, imaginative,
her conception of a life well lived
was freedom from responsible,
self servicing,
the only motive

the negative pole, was I,
her cruelties energy, supplied
she was a transducer,
she was a re-former,
making her hate into her positivity

the original sin, mine,
hardly original, a cheating a beating,
plot of a rerun, rerun

the fist of being her
first
and then,
her last,
and now her only,
was
her curse returned,
sevenfold unending

her vocabulary was her deeds,
and her stories,
raw rut, well writ,
notated with selfies,
to insure my eyes agonists,
lest I cover my ears

I am your Transducer
she boasted,
pronouncing it languidly,
completing its proclamation
with the venom of a shotgun

I am your
Transsssssss-ducer!

I am a woman more sinned against than sinning,^
I am a woman more avenged by revenging,
I have taken your energy,
learned your cruelty,
and it has transformed me.
^rephrasing of Shakespeare's Kng Lear's "“I am a man more sinned against than sinning”


when you have no inspiration, then
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/find-your-word/
like "transducer " from which was wove an imaginary tale

Postscript inspired by Anubis-the-Philosomancer, measurerer of the science of romance.


The science of emotion
should be easily connoted by calculus.

The tides that do ebb and flow,
do we not with prcision know,
the exact time and duration of the
pull of the moon's gravitation,
was  child play even for the ancients.

But can anyone chart,
the human heart,
of a woman scorned?
Written by
Nat Lipstadt  M/nyc
(M/nyc)   
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