by Eli Skipp
disregard the ideal of letting go.
be heroine if that's what you really want.
my neck, my shoulder-blades bleeding and believing
in faultless, crying desperation,
she comes on with effortless aggression,
the love of easing brutality,
and reminds of how every sexual fantasy is a voyeurism and a flaw
abusing and testing and feeling your edges,
our ideas of explicit grossly separate.
instead, give up.
endure concession and know defeat.
Lie prone in revelation,
this infatuation beats rabbiteen
like ageless and miscommunication
she comes on like by-proxy withdrawal and sought-out banality
and quickly burns out like flash-paper and neurons.
she yells obsenities at her swollen jaw
and her aching belly
and wrestles with convention versus intuition
and struggles with preconceived notions she is not at liberty to change.
let it be known that you no longer hold obligations
be ignorant if that's what you really want,
she keels over like a ship caught out at sea in a storm,
writhing for footholds,
breaking vows and forgetting prayers
instead, she submits.
without the bromidic knocking of fate,
she acquiesces to the dirt and the floor
to the beautiful uncleanliness of irresponsibility,
and falls passively into the sway.
the current swallowed her up into its arms and blessed her skull with its tearful reprimands
and she understood God and the world in its entirety, in empathy,
and through rebirth and misconception,
she decomposed into the ebb and flow of the dirt
without a sound
Author's Note: based on my own religious ideals. Cheers!
Posted on 03/03/2006
Copyright © 2022 Eli Skipp