I
Angry stupors succumb her sternum
--battered cavities
and shoulder sockets.
Mates with shotguns and pitchforks
snapped femur bones holding to hope,
cat nap toes struggling
to climb the miserable
The greatest beasts reverberate
--Fathom and Torrential/Alice & Skippy,
& Orwell and Bukowski
with pit mentality swarming
her literature
his neck. Never be the Republics.
The wall is wood and bare. Ammonia wet seal--
Alice, with her sweet, clawing voices sees
this escape is a prison.
The dove sent to fetch Peace's growth
got stuck in the chimney
that Skippy built with his stubbornness.
Alice touches her tacked on remnants
--feeling the double home.
Skippy stands still unless Alice calls
for him
and he runs so fast with heart halves beating
slow.
*II
Skippy looks down the abyss and sees Julius Caesar,
Cthulhu, and a black flag
calling back for ceremony
in honor of facilitating fear
holding tears
and hugs with arms of falsehood.
Providing bread for mothers and fathers,
captors of our tables of silence.
Fear--making dead witnesses into no soft music,
no music.
No,
facilitators near the top.
What the minds of men
have done to him...
III
Wet paper skin,
flat screen canvases--cute satisfactions
asked mean all the world
but yet nothing but petty questions
that break the camel's back.
"Do I deserve to do this to you?" Skippy asks,
helping Alice remove her other lung.
"Pages will tell babblers later
in history", Alice replies. Shrieking
Skippy quarters Alice, the body, the organism's pillow
ink
oozes
and
squirms.
Silence,
as Skippy does the deed.
Wallowing
back
into
the
swamp
of
obsessive
perception, climatic disintergration
makes flint hit steel--making another heir
in her litter. Her name is Pain.
IV
Loving Alice
watches as she falls,
crashes,
and rises.
She smiles softly.
V
softly with lips of jasmine, the butterfly conundrum is strapping
fingers made of chalk and other media to
red bricks,
red bells,
it is but a ghost of a casket. She breathes in this casket--in the belly of a bell, she survives.
It doesn't take her long
to finish
what she has done
--nails faded back to purple polish.
Falling through her father's philosophy a ladder,
a rope
to strangle the blade of Lady Macbeth's sanity.
Alice takes one last look
under jasper eyelids--pulls the rope & becomes lactic.
A motion film.
