My Body a Portrait for Lies

A stranger at the gate gazes on virgin bodies standing before him, pale in their neon skins. He sees souls that migrate, carried to hell on the backs of whores. A world inhabited with these figures, splendid and noble but engulfed in the devil's spawn. Their faces are gorged and bloated like some fat ugly flies. I see money that massages a man's groin far better than his ageing wife ever could.

The black wind that has witnessed the end of another marriage withdraws itself to under the bed, and allows the golden shafts of light to enter, and stir those that slumber so peacefully.

The air comes to me softly, wrapping itself around my head. My eyes open and they reveal a whore quietly congratulating herself.

Blackness engulfs me, and I realise too late that there is no going back from separation, from divorce.

I close my eyes and I see my wife lying awake, while our son of nine years sleeps with his slim black arms draped around her body. She is smoking, and each breath reveals my hands slowly counting eighty-five dollars.

May God forgive me. Hail Mary, mother of God...

As I lie in bed next to my mother's white skin I dream that if this ever happened to me I would let my blood pour from my body to darken the sky and choke my throat and eyes so that I would be both blind and dumb.

May my father's god give me the strength to harness my desire and harness the wolf that gathers in long shadows as the sun sets.

My God, my love, my soul

I cry for thee and recite thy poems which thou has spoken many a time.

Where out there that ravages my soul and killist thine heart with open wound from one's own tears.

Thou I stand before thee my Grace, my Lord

The cold is morbid with fear and darkness and evil flouts themselves with the presence and dignity of a wild boar gone to ground.

Though my lips have spoken and are pure and golden, the darkness fills me with a sence of inadequacy & dread.

PART TWO WILL CONTINUE