Anatomical Pieces

Anatomical Pieces prose poem

Photo by Ira Gelb

Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling, syncopating the noise
of the tinkle toys
the gutless boys
enraptured in the music
the anthem
Of invidious phantoms.

My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years.

Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
than hastening my climax and mordant urges
to bite what emerges,
and my mouth purges
the obelisk from underneath
the iron-pierced jester
the voracious molester.

My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the bodily fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce.

I turned thirty while still being sixteen
Vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall.
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.

Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious
worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit.

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Trevor Gates

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I'm a 90's kid raised on Cult films, transgressive books, contemporary art and world music. I'm also a published writer, semi-professional musician, and current Art student. I attend the Academy of Art University in San Francisco.
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