Gilded Scales Hanging from a Limb
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
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“Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all.” ~ André Breton, Nadja
We know the feeling, all. We know it all
Too well. The beauty of those shoulders walks
Past. Holes go limp and weak with lust. We fall.
A never sleeping, slickened destiny stalks
The holy man and woman when they least
Expect it … passing loveliness there by
The Christian college sidewalk. Fanged, the beast
Was waiting camouflaged. Defeat is sly.
We see the hallowed blackness and the gloss
Of curly hair and it is like a slug
Slammed into breasts. Purity becomes dross.
Beauty becomes a staggering drug
Shot up in pubic veins. A penis stabbed
With beauty’s needle is chastity grabbed.