Poem: A Bonus This Month

Posted: December 20, 2011 in Personal, Poetry


Wrapped in steel and glass from hurtling speed to full stop
he absorbs himself in ball rattling, pelvic thumping, sternum whumping bass notes.
Benumbed by reverberation himself,
he projects the cacophony onto all around him
invading metal, plastic, wood and bone alike.
The morning’s stillness, gentle bubbles surrounding his fellow commuters
are shattered and blown away.
He loses himself, progressively moving into the sound’s pulsing embrace.
Dancing in discomfort, she leans against a strange wall in an unfamiliar place.
A long awaited gathering of old friends has become a tribulation to be endured.
Repeatedly tilting a glass of liquid ruby fire, gulping with a greedy mouth
as rose fractals play across her pale skin, the quietus, a blanket descends.
False face outward, inside she relishes the way it glides and slithers down her throat
leaving a trail only she can follow down into deep and thirsty caverns.
Its fumes rise enveloping the senses and her dance ceases.
She loses herself, descending increasingly inward surrounded by a liquid mantle
As jealous eyes close in sleep, she slips out and races to meet another
in a lounge bathed in sodium hued lights subdued by outdated art deco decor.
Approaching her goal, assessing likelihood, eyeing chest, hands, crotch hungrily
and feigning confidence, she begins the dance of seduction with drinks.
Moving from bar to private room, pleasure radiates through her.
She basks in the glow of power as he loses control and she joins him
in the moment to moment sensation of frenzied flesh joined together.
She loses herself, repeatedly expiring within their mutual climactic ending.
A cold beryllium light bathes his face, pupils narrowing as he places crosshairs
on the faces of animated soldiers moving jerkily across the screen.
As his pupils narrow, he leans in for the kill. One quick click
and bloody gore bursts and splats across a cityscape. Pleased he relaxes and sighs.
Padded headphones cupping his ears direct the sounds of farce into his awareness
and block out the piteous cries and bitter muttering of a needy domestic scene
where people orbit his oblivious, seated figure.
He loses himself, engrossed kill by kill inside a made-up world of violent release.
A palette knife scritches on blank canvas in an explosion of textured vermilion.
Grasping a cigarette pointedly with forfinger and thumb, she inhales deeply
making the ember glow and releases the smoke sideways. A vague memory niggles through
her focus of an obligation, her lover and a restaurant. It falls discarded
as intuition and compulsion moves her to approach the canvas again.
Early gentle light becomes a harsh afternoon glare that wanes to velvety dusk.
Scrapes, splatters, glued objects accrue to the plane adding dimension to the work.
She loses herself, zealously diving in a pool of flowing creativity.

Copyright 2011, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  You do NOT have permission to copy or use this poem just because you found it on the Internet without expressly asking me FIRST.

Protected by Copyscape Web Plagiarism Detection

Thought process behind the poem:  The kernel of this poem came to me the other day while listening to an interview with a musician on the radio discussing how he becomes lost in his work and the lyrics of his songs frequently addressed the act of getting lost in things.  He meant it in a positive way.  Thinking about it in the context of my own life, the act of losing oneself has been selfish behavior to avoid dealing with a current reality.  Eventually someone else gets hurt and the perpetrator may or may not know what they are doing.  Although you probably have already figured it out this poem is about avoidance, selfishness, and how that all feeds into a loop of loneliness.


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