Place The Artist In Their Guillotine And Kill Them Properly

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Searching for a lip-less lush
When approaches the hush
Of permanent semantics.

I refrain from tattoos on collar bones,
Instead defeat acrylic paint
By watering down the canvas
With cat guts. Art sings this way,

Alone.

With a wooden string vengeance.
Brush strokes collapse
Like the fat-lady’s-crescendo.

But from underneath the belly’s shadow
Peaks the misbirth
Wide eyed and full of mirth.
It tip toes to the edge of the stage
And bows
A proper rehearsal of submission.

“I said plain language!”
A reverberation of fury
Exclaims the audience.

Creates standing room ONLY
For those applauding,
Winking,
Fucking off the compliments
And social cues.

We have the perfect hue
Of mute
Of leather
Of sigh. Whatever strips the flesh
From bone and positions
Sacrifice, properly. This is when
The where of confession
Mocks the honesty of truth.

One thought on “Place The Artist In Their Guillotine And Kill Them Properly

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