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From the beginning: like every other person of my class, race, gender, place in birth order, I want my endings happy - even as I tell myself that life sucks, how everything’s wrong. Life’s nothing more than intolerable nothingness - right? Yet, today I find emptiness, yes - but that there's really nothing, really wrong - isn't this just the way it is for most people; intolerable but tolerated at any rate we still watch TV in our cozies with similar iconic smiles - there again I find surprise, unlike women on TV, in magazines or private rooms on-line, I’ve never had razorblades, concertina wire, or burning cigarettes placed inside my vagina; nor animals, dead or alive, or animal parts, or a grenade in place of a cock - I’ve not had pepper or chili oil forty-million Scoville Heat Scale Units hot sending me slashed and smashing into walls like a chicken with my head chopped, hardy-haaar, for a drop of blood-red excitement, the vein throbbing, dead but still pumping; no filthy coins to pick up with my butt cheeks, no slimed bills inserted, no baht, no lira, no euros, no yen; I've never had to shake my money tree cause you said to, aurgh-aurgh, or give you the happy ending you paid for or bear your full weight collapsed with a shit eating smirk as I atomize into less than vapor - into intolerable, silent illumination of nothingness, because - Here, once more it is Spring. Here flowering- Here, the intractable spoiled-seeds of tragedy birth more babies with grave beginnings.
©2020 Karen Morris Poet