molesting the corpse of beauty

i dream
scratching across
the vellum of night
a dull pencil
wood scraping
faint graphite
creasing eternity
in an impotent
display of loss
my only true
contribution to art
a vague smudge
on the edge of
a canvas housing
flawed masterpieces
in half coagulated
remorseful scabs
as i rage fitfully
in a bipolar malaise

pollock on a
windless day
collecting drippings
on a filthy
barnfloor as rainbows
molest the azure skies
with no concept of
pedantic ironies
a sexually charged
androgynous giger
regulated to the
background of
bosch meets henson
in pastel delusions
scrawled on dirty
alleyway bricks with
no concise direction
in purgatorial musing

milking creativity’s
swollen prostate
in defiance of ideals
insinuating happenstances
over misguided beauty
in bloody furrows down
the blemished cheeks
of innocence despoiled
frantically barking
a derisive insolence at
the miserly gatekeepers
desperate despots slowly
strangling exuberance
from the fresh faced
future failures floundering
for insipid approval
from the stained demagogues
exchanging dreamfuckery
for carbon copy applause
a choir of simpletons
bemoaning the death of
artistry as they fingerpaint
in shit streaks down
the vacant asylum halls

i dream
graphite shavings
in a flurry of dust
the gray heel of my hand
pressed lovingly
against the throat of
joyous creation in
furtive spurts
an impassioned polyp
at the brink of bursting
an ingrown hair on the
backside of beauty
compromising integrity
for fleeting moments
of half accepted praise
in the monotone murmurs
of confused museum goers
basking in atrocities
as projected in a fog
of incongruent dismay


2 thoughts on “molesting the corpse of beauty

    1. i sketch poorly, but once dreamt of being a visual artist until the images and my talent grew too far apart. when the words get blocked up, i make a mess on a few sheets of paper to remind myself why i write.

      Liked by 1 person

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