The Laborer #1

Rape within a mother’s tone,
her hosiery
collected within stained-glass walls,
absorbing all the sparkled pins
of her unordinary
bias.

Shown in disappearing messages,
a dollop of transceived absolution;
bolstering penumbral piety,
as beads of vaginal secretions stir a sucking sound.

Who knew
what laity
transformed her gaiety to foul,
for in her house
lay pilgrims bent on separating noise,
to pug and kettle, new unsettling curls of voice.

I gave two liters
of my gift;

Enjoyed in fascist ecstasy my grit’s inauguration,
plumb prenuptial post-divorce,
paged wholly on presumption of a bed of nails.

Her harmony cast down, and pure contagion frolicked
in the winds outside,
to nests of adder-slaves and shrew,
whose sublime prattling drew no crowd.

See the fathomed
turn-by-turn; thwarted,

Punk echelon, remotely controlled by narcissistic coins;
whose flips berated,
never caressed, her whole entire body. But the bruises

Whose strangulations had perceived his beaded eyes,
broke both
the blood and stability of mind’s preconceived,
romantic-ushered vessels.