Life of A Salesman

it seemed a starless night,
as though my soul lay trapped between
the city lights
when no one’s here,
my eyes retreat inside to argue there
two tenants paying rent
to their lord upstairs

drawn the curtains
closed the theatre

backstage where the questions come together
there is a doorway further back
we don’t speak of,
as I approach, the lamp-light turns from blue
to red
looking back over my shoulder,
down the length my shadows fled
the hallway’s just as long
as the echoes clawed upon
I turn back to face my demon, when you said,
in a hushed and hurried whisper
as though the fear had sorely blistered,
forcing words in stops and starts
that lick the air

“I say we’d best think twice,
Or better yet, dissect the ‘whys’
wouldn’t you say we’d best decide, lest we despair?”

“Professor”, I said, “No, as insular species go,
in a perpetual state of optimistic curiosity
I think it best we gamble death
that’s what the audience expects
I’d rather this
than that insipid encore of their screams.”

Back to the door of horror
Standing silently, smiling closer
Scratching at my itch to rush cold fingers
down and in

“Take me with a twisted mesh of mind, and man,
and sin
Push me down and fill me up
with all the skeletons you love
To kiss, or have you never tasted skin?”

“Demoness” I growled, “I will keep all I devour,
every peel and screaming howl,
every ache and thirsting grin.
Every fragrant garment,
every lace or clasp upon it,
every sheet of silk or drop of milk
you’ve scraped within.
Every waking hour,
every dream this nightmare prowls
ripping out the delicate sweetly sugars,
bleeding sour.

Break before me, splinter.
Open up, or here be burned!”

“Such big and hateful words” Said she,
“The least of which have light romantic petals
never earned.
For you believe in nothing,
now to nothing be returned.”

There she lay in half-surrender,
half-inviting, half in temper
staring through her narrow eyes,
as though my prize were hers to measure
as though I needed her, or anything
I believe she wanted me to cry in pain
To flinch, or show a wound of real care
To show her I had felt, that pain was there
Yet all that I could manage with my lips
As I stepped over her,
a smile- just like this:

“Hate me won’t you, orchestrate
a poorly directed dramatic play?
Over glorify theatrics, trivialize-
as a hypochondriac laments romantic lines.”

And then it was in an instant, black
submerged, I fell to the depths of that

“I gave, you know. I gave to her.”
“I know, and she had given hers.”

With that I climbed into this machine,
the transition took the light from me
As I trailed behind subterranean worms
down cerebral caverns known to her,
I became a hatred for this hell
and then I turned that hatred on myself

“Become that creeping thing,
that stalks the halls of your imagining
As these stone fingers scratch the noise,
that the rasping cackles steal your voice
Let fingers curl in claws,
The Gremlin’s smile is your mirage.”

“I’ll tell a secret to your
fleshy bits,
your carnal lust is cancerous.
You’ll only feed the orgiastic worms,
who judge the beauty of the world,

by magazines and T.V. screens
by beauty pageant pornography

so they can feed on their children, too
abuse, recycle, victim- you.”

“When did we crawl out of our after-birth
to violate our mothers dreams of earth?”

“A better question than that, Professor..

do you truly believe
you’re not
this Monster?”

© Emerys Watchel, 2006, 2016 All rights reserved.


2 thoughts on “Life of A Salesman

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