SECTION FIFTEEN
POETRY PAGE FIVE

sm
COLUMN SEVENTY-FIVE, SEPTEMBER 1, 2002
(Copyright 2002 Al Aronowitz

THE FISH

Slip, splash, crash, wham...
damn, something here is tripped.
Sunlight dipping has hooked my eye
and wrenched my blood for tears...
And words like blades of knives
have come to rip my bowel
from groin to head.
"I do not love you, anymore..."
 

I can not die, but twitch
like this gutted fish and fear
the hollowed chest that's left
might cry-out, No, No, No...
it can't be so again.
No one can go again
repeating from the past
such ugliness that still outlast
its welcome.
"I do not love you, anymore..."

 
Here, heavy, homeless blades of words
splatter like dissected matter
splashing from slammered head...
"I do not love you, anymore..."

Like when filleting fish,
scale and slime and empty cavities
are all turned-out a sticky muck.
Each scrape of scale and probing cut
renders each dripping void to now inhale
as pale lips like vampires, stuck in sucking,
Clutch with wetted vacuum to drain it all.
These words fall more like issue raining forth
from some old, cold, hard, whore's vagina
seeping with sores of doubt
and indecision about
this first intruding tools incision
and first escaping puff
of bloated air...
"I do not love you, anymore..."
 
Uh, ahh, aughhh, these words come and shake
our wretched bodies up and round
Till like, at last, in throws of death,
they move us to some futile, final effort
to try and throw-out every last corruption...
as if we were cause and blame
beshamed in all of every season.

We, with loves' emotion broke,
choke warped from reason to profess...
Self-damned, I cannot cry.
Self-defeated, dazed and,
for the next to last time,
down am I.
Rationalizing, we vie...
If blessed, I may not rest
till up my life I try to live again
and crash these ivory towers
of self-illusion.
 

Now, once, pure, fawned emotions
here lay wasted next to you
as masturbated love...
And as I hold this red-meat filet up,
even, at arms length dripping
and exposed to window light...
with all this blood and crud in mix,
I can't tell which filet is which...
and dear husband, I don't think,
You, really, should have told me this...
"I do not love you, anymore..."
while I was cleaning fish !!!  ##

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